Page 50 of My Best Years

What a pathetic, piece of shit, sorry excuse for a father.

“Pack a bag and leave?” I repeat, disbelief lacing my tone. “Where am I supposed to go? This is my home.”

A crooked smile curves his lips.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, like he didn’t just kick his ownson out. “Go stay with that little slut you’re always running around with. The one with the blonde hair.”

Any grip I had on my temper flies out the window. My anger morphs into pure rage.

Go stay with that little slut you’re always running around with.

That little slut.

Slut.

My vision blurs and all I see is red at the derogatory, four-letter word that he used to describe Birdie.

Over the years, my father has said a lot of hurtful shit. Unforgivable words that caused my veins to fill with hatred.

But this—referring to Birdie as a slut—has me ready to strangle him. He can degrade and belittle me all he wants. I’ve learned how to take it. But I won’t stand here and let him speak about Birdie like that. Over my dead fucking body.

I bare my teeth, snarling as my limbs shake with fury. Just as he did to me, I lift my hands and shove him back. Almost bumping heads with him as I get up in his face.

“What thefuckdid you just say?”

His lips turn up in a smug smirk before he lets out a wicked chuckle.

“You gonna fight me, son?” he taunts. “You think you’re big and bad now that you’re eighteen, huh?”

All the anger I’ve kept pent up over the years boils to the top and finally unleashes.

“Fuck you!”I shout.

I grit my teeth, trying to hold back hot tears as I push him back another foot.

I know I shouldn't feel an ounce of remorse, especially after all of the abuse I’ve taken from this man. But it fucking wrecks me that this is the relationship I have with my father. This isthe relationship I have with the man who is supposed to be my number one protector.

I’ll never know what it’s like to have a father who teaches their son how to throw a baseball, takes them camping, or talks to them about girls. Instead, I’ll remember every hit and every bruise. I’ll remember the hatred in his eyes right before he strikes me.

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that again!”I yell as an angry tear slides down my cheek.

In the next breath, he reaches around my neck and painfully tangles his fingers in the curls at the back of my head. My neck cracks as he pulls my head back until he’s staring down at me. His nostrils flare as his shoulders rise and fall with furious breaths.

I can tell by the irate look in his eyes that he’s past the point of no return. He’s about to lose control, and for once in my life, I don’t fucking care.

For years, I hated the thought of laying a hand on my father. The thought of treating any human with the same resentment he shows me.

But now, I just feel numb. Like he could die tomorrow, and I wouldn't shed a single tear.

“I just call it like I see it,” he replies in a low, lethal tone. “And she’s nothing but a whore, following you around like a pathetic puppy dog–”

Before he can get another word out, my fist swings for his face. With his anchoring grip on my head, he has complete control and dodges my punch.

“You worthless motherfucker!”I scream as hot tears stream down my face. I swing at him again and again, punching the air as he dodges my fist.

“You’re supposed to be my father!”I cry out, myvoice hoarse with emotion.“You’re supposed to take care of me! But all you’ve ever done is hurt me. You fucking piece of shit!”

My throat burns from how loud I’m yelling. My vision blurs as I let out words I’ve been keeping in for so long.

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