Page 62 of Filtration Play
Fuck. They were going to be sick.
Their father’s lessons were usually violent, more than the usual backhand. No, it was a pummeling, a full-out beating. Mom would be lucky if she didn’t have internal bleeding. Fin hated that they still felt sympathy because it tangled in an ever-present rage at her for not leaving.
Why couldn’t they move?
They were a grown-ass adult and hadn’t seen this bastard in over a decade.
And yet he stopped in front of them, close enough to catch his fetid breath, to see his rotting teeth. He might not be drunk at the moment, but he was wasting away from the inside out. Fin should be turning around and heading home. They channeled every ounce of their energy to do so, but nothing.
They were nine years old and immobile as their dad struck them in the face. As he raged around the house with a terrifying wildness, and they had no recourse.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“You don’t speak to her anymore, you got that?” their father growled. “You left the house, abandoned the family. You lost the right.”
A scream remained stuck in their throat, one begging to be unleashed. This was so many nightmares that blended with memories of wanting to cry out but unable to. Of screaming for help but knowing no one was coming.
Before they could force the words from their throat, their father swung.
His fist connected with their face.
Fin’s head snapped to the side, the explosion of pain immediate.
This wasn’t the first time he’d hit them. The punches they’d collected over the years had stacked and stacked and stacked. They were phantom sensations that lived under their skin, that breathed there, a reminder to keep their guard up, to not trust, to distance, distance, distance.
Because if their own parent could do this, then others could break them too.
No. Fucking. More. Their chin throbbed.
“Don’t contact her,” he barked. “She belongs to me.”
Fucking disgusting. So fucking disgusting.
He’d always treated Mom like that, like his goddamn property to toss around as he pleased. The anger that burned in them wasn’t the flare of a sparkler. No, this was the long burn of a hearth that had been stoked for years, one that had been kept aflame, even when it dwindled to fiery coals.
He might’ve gotten a sucker punch in, but they weren’t a fucking kid anymore.
And they’d never tolerate his abuse again.
As if the punch had snapped them free from a spell, their instincts clicked into place. They didn’t hesitate. They ducked low, sweeping their arm out around their father’s waist. In a few deft moves, they hurtled him on his back against the pavement. They hoped it fucking hurt. Fin pressed their forearm against his throat, and he wheezed, trying to suck in a breath. Rage pulsed through their veins fast and fierce, but they refused to back down.
“I’ve got an ultimatum of my own. I never want to see the two of you again. You try this again, and you won’t have to worry about calling the cops. I’ll bury you myself.”
Their heart thumped rapid-fire, like the spray of a machine gun, and a wildness took over. They were a feral, broken thing, The phantom pulse of tears throbbed at their eyes, but they wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.
Maybe they shouldn’t cut their mother out too. Maybe this would lead to reading her obituary far too early.
But they couldn’t keep putting themself through this, and she refused to leave.
Fin couldn’t handle seeing their father again.
They pressed their forearm a little deeper against his throat, and a gurgle came out. His eyes were wild, and he thrashed, but their pin was solid, and he was weaker than they remembered.
“Deal,” he gasped.
“When I get up, if you try anything else, I’ll have you on your back again before you can blink.” Their cheek throbbed, and guaranteed they’d have a nasty bruise from where their father cold-cocked them. Fin’s stomach churned, even though the flicker of fear in his eyes sent a satisfying zing through them.
Darkness pulsed through them. At how easy it would be to keep pressing down. They bit their lower lip until it bled. Fin pulled backand rolled to a stand, and their father gasped out breaths. His hands moved to his neck, and he sat up as they edged away pace after pace.
