Page 51 of My Best Years

I lose all sense of direction when my father yanks me around by the back of my head, his fingers painfully pulling at the hair on my scalp. I’m facing the wall now with him at my back.

“I told you to stop running your fuckin’ mouth.”

And those are the last words he says to me before he pulls my head back and rams it into the wall.

Pain like I’ve never experienced before rushes from my head all the way down to my toes.

A loud popping noise echoes through the foyer as my forehead crashes into the drywall. My head vibrates in agony as a loud ringing fills my ears. I think the room is spinning, but I’m not sure because he pulls my head back before pounding it into the wall again. The white paint cracks, creating an indent as he repeatedly beats my head in.

I try to turn around and fight back, but I can’t see past the overwhelming amount of blood dripping from my forehead down into my eyes. I try to inhale, but breathing is getting more difficult by the second.

I start to blackout as my father shouts a slew of angry words I can’t make out before shoving my limp body down to the marble floor. My shoulders hit the hard ground before my head, barely softening the blow to the back of my skull.

Blood bubbles from my nostrils as I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

My father may be a drunk, but he’s not dumb. He’s been a lawyer for twenty years and knows how to get around the law, which is why he’s refusing to hit me with his hands. He knowshe’s hurting me badly; he’s trying to beat the shit out of me without incriminating himself.

When I finally draw in a solid breath, I use all the strength I have left to try and sit up. I barely get my head off the floor before my father’s shoe connects with the side of my ribcage, knocking me back down.

He pulls back his foot and kicks me again. I hear a cracking noise as an unbearable pain shoots through my side. It feels like one of my ribs is stabbing my insides.

“S–stop,”I croak, my voice weak. “Please,” I wheeze as my vision starts to fill with dark spots.

“Someone…help me…” I pant in broken breaths as his shoe continuously drives into me.

I’ve never been scared like this before.

It’s never been this bad.

He’s not stopping.

His kicks are only getting harder.

Blood starts to spurt from my mouth at the same time my heart rate seems to slow.

And it’s then that I realize I might die.

After years of trying to survive my own father, this might really be the end. I’m so close to graduation. So close to being out of this house for good and creating a new life for myself… But he might actually kill me first.

I start to dissociate, refusing to give my last moments of life to my father.

I close my eyes and try my best to block out the pain.

I think of my happy place:Birdie Wren.

I think of her beautiful, silver eyes that remind me of moonlight against the water. I think of her laugh and how it’s the sweetest song I’ve ever heard. I think of how her cheeks turn pink each time I tell her that I love her.

I think about how stunning she would look wearing a whitedress and walking down the aisle to me. I remember her telling me that she wanted to get married on the beach one day.

I think about what our babies would look like. Would they have black hair like me or golden strands like Birdie?

The first time Birdie spoke to me, she told me that I had messy hair. All I could think about was how her hair reminded me of the sun.

I think about last night and how I held her in my arms as she slept. Skin to skin.

I think about how I kissed the tears from her cheeks as I slowly sunk inside of her for the last time before sunrise. How she whispered she loved me with each thrust.

“I love you, baby. So much,”I said back. Over and over as we came together.

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