Page 1 of Uncaged Obsessions

CHAPTER 1

DREW

Something is wrong.

I could always tell when I was growing up, and the same feeling of impending doom is consuming me now.

Just like the day when I was sixteen and my dad came storming into the kitchen while I was attempting to clean some of the dishes piled in the sink. I just needed a plate and a fork or spoon to use on whatever food I could scrounge up in this house.

I fucking hate it here. I hate that we live in filth and that every single day I'm just waiting for my dad to come home. He’ll either be too drunk to remember that he has a son, or just drunk enough to remember he does and that he hates me.

So as soon as I hear the rickety door to our trailer slam shut, I turn the water off. I’m hoping he’ll avoid coming in here and I can be invisible today.

His heavy footfalls come closer and I hang my head, the longer strands of hair falling in front of my face. I know I need to cut it soon. My hack jobs look awful and I wish that just once I could get a real haircut like the other guys at school.

I’ve been trying to get a job, but apparently it’s hard to get hired anywhere. I just want to be able to make some money, save it up, and get the fuck out as soon as possible.

The footsteps come closer, but he doesn’t say anything. I don’t move as I hear him open the fridge and slam it shut again. I continue to wait, hoping he’s just going to leave and go sit on the ripped and broken couch, or go to his room.

Apparently, I’m not that lucky.

“Couldn’t even get those fucking dishes finished, could ya, boy?” he snarls.

“Maybe if I had some help,” I murmur.

“The fuck did you say.” He shoves my back, pushing me into the counter, but luckily I was braced for it.

I turn around, feeling more confident, or stupid, or just completely done with him and this life he’s forced us to have. “I said maybe if I had some help. Like maybe if you didn’t run Mom off, or if you were actually a functioning human.”

“You ungrateful piece of shit.” The first blow comes flying at me, no doubt slowed down by the alcohol running through his bloodstream. So I’m able to avoid the hit.

I stand at my full height, having passed him up this year by at least two inches. I also started weight lifting at the gym at school and have been starting to build more muscle. So when I cock my own fist back and it cracks against the bones in his face, he goes down easily.

I don’t stop.

All my rage that’s built up over the years. All my desires to finally see him get what he deserves. All the revenge I’ve wanted to get on him comes out as I continue to rain punches down into his face.

He’s gargling on his own blood, and I don’t stop. Not even when he stops his feeble attempts to fight back. Not even when he stops moving all together. And not even when his face is unrecognizable from my fists.

I will myself to stop, sitting back on my ankles as I look down at the unconscious man laying on the floor of our kitchen. My hands are covered in blood. His blood. Probably mine too if I’m being honest because even though I can’t feel it, I know my knuckles are busted.

As I continue to stare at the man who has called himself my father for my entire life, I notice the lack of movement in his chest. Standing up slowly, I stare down at him waiting for him to move, to make a noise.

I don’t know how long I stare at him without noticing any movement, but my fear kicks up. I killed him.

I took it too far, and I fucking killed my father.

The panic takes over and I need to get out of here. I’m going to go to prison for the rest of my life. I can’t be here anymore.

My hands are shaking as I go to the bathroom and wash off the blood quickly. Then, I grab my old ratty backpack, shoving as many clothes as I can fit alongside my school stuff already in there.

I leave without looking back. I should probably call for help because maybe he’s not dead, but if he is then I’d be caught. And that’s the last thing I want.

So I close the door to the house that’s been a prison to me.

I don’t take the car, instead, jumping on my bike and pedaling away as fast as I can. I’m hoping all of the neighbors are minding their own business. I don’t know where I’m going to go, but I just can’t be here.

I endup finding a secluded area in a park and I choose to settle in for the night because the adrenaline has since left my body and I can feel myself crashing. Though, as I lay on the ground, resting my head on my backpack, all I can see is the mangled remains of my father’s face. I know I’ll never forget the sight for as long as I live.

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