most beloved list either, that was for damn sure.
Thank God for the peace and serenity of my house. I needed, more than anything, to relax before I had to deal with the other issues in my life, my spastic mother being A-number one. Now, if only I could have snuck by the drunken douche in the family room without being noticed. Then I would have been left perfectly stress free. Well…at least for a little while longer that is. As soon as my mom got home from work, I’d be taking over Jamie duties, while she tended to the pathetic needs of her tanked-up husband.
“Hey flame brain, that you?” I froze in place. Crap, even tiptoeing feet couldn’t hide me from the monster tonight.
I shivered in unease, edging my way towards the hallway, hating him even more for using his little pet name on me. Why couldn’t he ever call me by my real name? Actually, now that I thought about it, nobody seemed to be able to do that anymore. And yeah, sure, I had hair the color of, well…strawberries, but hey, I did have a God-given name that I occasionally liked to be called.
“I said hey, you stupid piece of shit. Now answer me!” He shouted even louder. I glanced down at the garbage bag hanging out by the living room entrance, an empty jar of whiskey peeked out from the top. I shook my head, and pushed it down with the sole of my shoe, hating that tonight was one of those liquor over beer nights.
Those kind of nights always sucked major ass…
“Damn it kid, make yourself useful, and get your ass in here, now! ”
I blew out a breath, trying to rein in my temper, trying even harder to let his words bounce off me. I placed my book bag and jacket onto the foot of the staircase, readying myself for the craptastic night he was surely about to bring.
The sound of something hard crashed against the drywall, and I jumped, falling back against the railing. I let out a tiny yip, and pressed my palm over my mouth so I could capture the rest of my squeak. The last thing I needed was for him to discover he’d freaked me out. I wasn’t weak. He didn’t need to think I was. I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was more than apparent that my night of relaxation was no longer going to be a possibility.
I really hated that man.
I made my way around the wall that separated the kitchen from our small family room, when I caught sight of his sloppy, fat ass sprawled out on the couch. His brown filled glass was perfectly balanced in one hand; the remote and cigarette were equally as steady in the other. He had some serious skills in that drunken freak category. I hated that this had become a permanent way of life for me. I hated that this was what I dealt with on a day in, day out basis. But what I hated the most was the fact that I was growing used to it.
Too, being used to something didn’t necessarily mean I accepted it. I wanted to change it. And I wanted to change it soon. I just needed some time…
My shoulders fell as I headed for the kitchen, frustration and hatred built in my chest. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him tonight. As a matter of fact, I was never in the mood to deal with him. What was I supposed to do though, when he was always there antagonizing me? Berating me, torturing me with his words of hatred?
“Yeah, John, I’m in the kitchen, do you need something?” Of course he did. I didn’t even know why I bothered asking.
“I want,” he belched. “… my whiskey. Now get it!”
I rubbed my temples with my forefingers as I leaned against the counter. My stomach churned from either anxiety or fear…or both, most likely. I grabbed an apple before I poured him another glass. My gaze wandered back and forth between the apple and drink. A small, slow, and equally as cryptic grin appeared on my lips. Hmm, so the evil stepmother from Snow White might have had the right idea with the poison apple thing after all.
But was he really worth the jail time in the end?
A sense of resolve washed over me as I entered the
Thank God for the peace and serenity of my house. I needed, more than anything, to relax before I had to deal with the other issues in my life, my spastic mother being A-number one. Now, if only I could have snuck by the drunken douche in the family room without being noticed. Then I would have been left perfectly stress free. Well…at least for a little while longer that is. As soon as my mom got home from work, I’d be taking over Jamie duties, while she tended to the pathetic needs of her tanked-up husband.
“Hey flame brain, that you?” I froze in place. Crap, even tiptoeing feet couldn’t hide me from the monster tonight.
I shivered in unease, edging my way towards the hallway, hating him even more for using his little pet name on me. Why couldn’t he ever call me by my real name? Actually, now that I thought about it, nobody seemed to be able to do that anymore. And yeah, sure, I had hair the color of, well…strawberries, but hey, I did have a God-given name that I occasionally liked to be called.
“I said hey, you stupid piece of shit. Now answer me!” He shouted even louder. I glanced down at the garbage bag hanging out by the living room entrance, an empty jar of whiskey peeked out from the top. I shook my head, and pushed it down with the sole of my shoe, hating that tonight was one of those liquor over beer nights.
Those kind of nights always sucked major ass…
“Damn it kid, make yourself useful, and get your ass in here, now! ”
I blew out a breath, trying to rein in my temper, trying even harder to let his words bounce off me. I placed my book bag and jacket onto the foot of the staircase, readying myself for the craptastic night he was surely about to bring.
The sound of something hard crashed against the drywall, and I jumped, falling back against the railing. I let out a tiny yip, and pressed my palm over my mouth so I could capture the rest of my squeak. The last thing I needed was for him to discover he’d freaked me out. I wasn’t weak. He didn’t need to think I was. I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was more than apparent that my night of relaxation was no longer going to be a possibility.
I really hated that man.
I made my way around the wall that separated the kitchen from our small family room, when I caught sight of his sloppy, fat ass sprawled out on the couch. His brown filled glass was perfectly balanced in one hand; the remote and cigarette were equally as steady in the other. He had some serious skills in that drunken freak category. I hated that this had become a permanent way of life for me. I hated that this was what I dealt with on a day in, day out basis. But what I hated the most was the fact that I was growing used to it.
Too, being used to something didn’t necessarily mean I accepted it. I wanted to change it. And I wanted to change it soon. I just needed some time…
My shoulders fell as I headed for the kitchen, frustration and hatred built in my chest. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him tonight. As a matter of fact, I was never in the mood to deal with him. What was I supposed to do though, when he was always there antagonizing me? Berating me, torturing me with his words of hatred?
“Yeah, John, I’m in the kitchen, do you need something?” Of course he did. I didn’t even know why I bothered asking.
“I want,” he belched. “… my whiskey. Now get it!”
I rubbed my temples with my forefingers as I leaned against the counter. My stomach churned from either anxiety or fear…or both, most likely. I grabbed an apple before I poured him another glass. My gaze wandered back and forth between the apple and drink. A small, slow, and equally as cryptic grin appeared on my lips. Hmm, so the evil stepmother from Snow White might have had the right idea with the poison apple thing after all.
But was he really worth the jail time in the end?
A sense of resolve washed over me as I entered the
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