Page 62 of Promises in the Dark

The way she felt, the way we fucked, the way we temporarily loved—if you could even call it that—it was fucking perfect.

I kissed her hungrily, my lips desperate for her taste, allowing myself to imagine what could have been, even though I knew it would never happen.

This tangled mess of limbs was all we could ever be.

Chapter 18

_______________________

Iwoke up in a blur, disoriented and gasping for air. My eyes flew open as I felt my father’s hand wrapped tightly around my neck, choking the life out of me.

I tried to struggle, but it was no use—my father was way too strong for me.

This guy was six-foot-two, 250 pounds of pure muscle, and he was pissed. Really pissed. Like, he-just-found-out-his-wife-is-cheating-on-him pissed.

And he was looking straight at me with those cold, dead eyes of his, like he was about to rip my fucking head off.

“Wake up, you little piece of shit!” he yelled at me, spittle flying from his lips. “This is how a real man is made!”

Fuck, not again.

My throat felt like it was on fire, my whole body shaking. I looked at him, spitting out the words through clenched teeth, “You’re a psychopath. You think choking me makes me a man? You’re delusional.”

He just laughed, a twisted, ugly sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “We’ll see about that, boy.”

I felt his spit landing on my face as he leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and his eyes wild with some twisted sense of pride.

I heard him muttering to himself, about how I was a disgrace to the family name and how he needed to make me tough.

The more I struggled, the tighter his grip got. My vision started to blur as I felt my air supply diminish.

I tried to scream, but my voice was stuck in my throat like a pile of piss-soaked rags. I could feel the beatings coming—another lesson in being a man, according to my old man’s twisted brains.

My struggles only seemed to amuse him, his grip tightening even further, cutting off my air supply.

“If you cry, I’ll beat your ass even harder,” he spat, his voice shaking with fury.

I clawed at his hand, trying to rip it away from my throat, but the bastard was stronger than me. He hurled me against the wall with a force that rattled my bones and knocked the breath out of my lungs.

“You must learn to take it like a man,” he said between gasps, like he was doing me a favor.

This was his idea of toughening me up? Choking me until I pass out? The motherfucker was delusional if he thought this shit builds character. All it did was turning me into a walking time bomb.

I was stunned, my body crashing into the wall and sliding down it until my back hit the floor.

“You’re nothing but a pathetic, weak little fuck,” he screamed, his words cutting deeper than any blow he could inflict.

I tried to prove myself, to show him that I wasn’t the worthless sack of shit he saw me as. I pushed myself to the limit, trying to excel in everything I did, but it was never enough.

He blamed me for my mother leaving, for everything that had gone wrong in his life, and he made sure to remind me of it every day. He would call me every name in the book, berating me for my perceived weaknesses, for not living up to his expectations. Every fucking insult, every degrading word, reinforced the idea that I was nothing but a worthless failure. I associated vulnerability with that helpless teenage boy I used to be, the one who couldn’t protect himself, who couldn’t stand up to the abuse.

I’d take the punches, the beatings, because they were nothing compared to the damage his words did. The bruises?They’d fade. But the shit he said to me? That stayed. It stuck with me, buried deep, making sure I never forgot how worthless I was in his eyes.

I looked my father straight in the eye, blood dripping from my split lip, bruises forming on my face, and I smirked.

“Is that all you got, old man?” I croaked out, still trying to catch my breath.

Fuck, I couldn’t breathe.

---