My father and another man was sitting on the couch in the living room, smoking huge amounts of weed while having a bottle of alcohol in their hands. Their backs were facing me so I tried to go unnoticed as they continued to jibber jabber on what they were discussing about. But of course fate decided to be extra cruel to me because I stepped on something sharp which caused me to yelp in pain.
The sudden high pitch of the noise made both of the men jump in fright. My father turned around and gave me a rather cold stare as I tried to hobble over to the stair case with my bloody foot that was slowly dripping bloody on the wooden floor. I made a mental note of cleaning that up later after taking immediate matters in my hands first.
“Hey John, is that your son?” The other man said, the way he said it made me think that he was disapproving the fact. I couldn't blame him though, I would have done the same thing if I was him. My father didn't say anything at him, he just continued to glare at me as I continued to try my best to get the broken shard of the glass out of my foot before I get out of there as fast as I could. After I got majority of the shards out, I used the remaining of my sock to wrap around the wound so it doesn't spill more blood as I walk. During that whole process, I tried to ignore their stares and my fathers so called friends snide remarks about how scrawny I was compared to my father. The more and more the man made comments about me, the more and more my father started to stare harder at me with distastes. Once I was done doing what I was doing, I slowly walked up the stairs desperate to get out of there but I couldn't go fast enough without wincing in pain.
The stairs felt like an eternity to get up there but eventually I made it to my room and locked my door behind me. Ever since that night, I have been locking my door without a second thought in my mind. And besides the man in the living room sounded to familiar any ways but the more I thought about it, I realized that maybe he was the rapist based on just his voice alone. Fear gripped my heart once I came to that conclusion but of course some where in my brain told me that he might not be the guy that did that to me. That maybe I was imagining that kind of sound in a state of panic at the time.
I also wondered if he told my father while they are being too busy being stoned to death. Would my father beat him? Kick him out or worse? Will he do that to me? All these questions and pondering left me in a confused and fearful state as I laid down on my bed and stared at the blank ceiling that represented my life once more. Tears filled my eyes and spilled over my cheeks, when did my home life come to this?
An hour went by and I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing in the house. I assumed it was my father once again leaving me alone and going with his friend to the bar to get a couple more drinks. To my surprise though, I heard the familiar sounds of someone walking closer to my door, not a moment longer a huge bang hit the door from the outside.
The bang caused me to jump out of my bed and look at it in fright. Another bang resignated from it. I slowly got up from my bed then, both from fright and from my foot still wrapped in the sock from earliers incident. The sound of me unlocking my door echoed in my room and the moment I removed my hand from the lock, the door swung open making me jerk my whole body from the sudden swiftness from the door. In the hallway stood my father, looking very angry. I stepped back which was a wrong move to begin with as he immediately grabbed my arm and roughly yanked me in the hallway carelessly.
I hit my head against one of my mothers picture frames, making it shatter and drop to the ground. Not long after I felt a warm substance leak down my head and my face area. I didn't need to check what that substance was, I already knew it was my blood based on the intense pain I felt in that area. My vision went hazy as I tried to squint at my fathers towering form. He then proceeded to grab me once more and shoved me against the wall like I was a rag doll and not his flesh and blood. During the whole time of him punching and hitting me, he would often call me useless, or any other horrid names to say to the child. He would make sure to beat it into me, until I would cry or beg him to stop. Sometimes the begging would work and he would just leave me be but most of the time he would continue on, not hearing a word I would say.
I didn't do anything to stop him, after all what else could I do? I was a scrawny, skinny sixteen year old boy who couldn't gain an once of muscle much less fat to save my life compared to my father who was very much bigger and stronger then me. So after he was done beating on me, I limply walked to the bathroom, being careful of not looking in the mirror, knowing that once I do, I would break down and start crying once more. I didn't want to give my father any more reason to beat on me any more then he already did just moments ago.
Once in the shower, I was mesmerized about how the color red could look so beautiful and ribbon like when in the presence of water. Something as beautiful as the color of blood didn't look like it should belong to a body like mine, filled with imperfections and flaws compared to everyone else's beauty and perfectionism. If anything I was the disgrace of the whole human species, a side affect in evolution as they would say. I gingerly touched the side of my head and winced in pain, but when I took my hand away from it I saw more blood smeared on the palms of my hand. It was also then that I started to feel a bit woozy from the blood loss so I rushed a little bit, taking care of things that needed to be taken cared of before I do something stupid, like faint.