Page 97 of Truth Or Dare
A gasp escapes from above me. “Christopher!”
I glance up to see my mom, hands over her mouth in shock. The pain in her eyes tears at me. “Mom, please, just go to your room,” I urge her, wishing she would stay out of it. Whenever she gets involved, it never ends well.
But she doesn’t listen. She races down the stairs, gently lifting my face to examine the blood trickling down my lip. Her touch feels like a world apart from my father’s, and I almost want to laugh.
How did these two ever end up together?
Why does she stay with him?
These questions have haunted me day after day, year after year, ever since I was seven years old and my father gave me my first busted lip.
“He’s fine,” my piece of shit father grunts, tugging me away from my mom. “Get the fuck out of here, and let me discipline him.”
Discipline. Like beating the shit out of your kid teaches them how to behave. It just makes me fucking hate him and want out of this house.
“Christopher. Please, don’t hurt—ahh!”
I barely have time to react before he shoves her into the wall. My eyes widen in horror as I see my mom crumple to the floor, clutching her arm in pain.
“Mom!” I struggle to break free from his grasp to reach her as he tightens his grip on me. “Let go of me!” I shout, pushing against his chest. “Don’t you dare touch her.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
My blood boils, anger rising until I can’t take it anymore, and I fucking blow. I swing my fist at his face with all the force I have inside of me, watching as his face swings to the side.
His eyes widen in shock as he turns to me, clutching his chin. “You little shit.”
My heart pounds in my chest as he advances, landing a punch squarely on my face.
Fuck.
I cough violently as his fist slams into my stomach this time, knocking me to the floor.
“Christopher,” my mother yells. I look up at her, and I think I see tears streaming down her face, but I can’t tell. My eyes are blurry, and my ears are ringing, and…fuck.
I should have stayed at Gabi’s.
I should have slept there, and held her against me, and smiled in the morning when she eventually looked at me and said she didn’t mean to kiss me, that she was drunk and didn’t know what she was doing.
I should have gotten my heart broken.
It would have hurt less than this.
“You think you can punch me?” he sneers, delivering a kick to my lower abdomen, right where the scar from his pocket knife hasn’t even healed yet. “You think you’re tough now?” Another kick follows.
Blood spurts out of my mouth. My ears ring so loud, I can’t even hear him.
I hear my mom, though.
Screaming, yelling, crying.
“Go…” I cough out some more blood.Go back upstairs.
Please.
“Hello?” I hear her voice tremble. “I need the police right now. My husband is hurting my son.”
“What the—” The kicking halts abruptly, leaving me gasping for air, my ears ringing.
