Well, my prick of a father is shouting at my mom, and for once, she is giving it back.
I know how this ends, and that’s the part that makes me throw myself out of bed. My eyes fall to the freshly scrubbed stain on the floor where my sperm donor threw up, and I imagine Mom on her hands and knees, cleaning up his shit.
What a prick my dad is.
There’s a sound of shattering glass, and I’m out of my bedroom before I can blink, catching sight of Dad retreating to the porch with the speed of a drunk tortoise.
“Are you okay?” I lean down beside my mom, who is sweeping at the glass on the floor with tears streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry we woke you,” Mom replies, biting on her lip as I clock the new bruise on her jaw.
“I’m not; dumb fucker should be out at work, supporting his family!” Dad calls over his shoulder, igniting the rage and revulsion I try so hard to keep under wraps.
“He’s at college!” Mom yells back, emptying the glass into the trash, the sound too familiar for anyone’s liking.
“To fuck around with whores! All he does is color in, he’s like a fucking kid!”
Mom puts the dustpan and brush away, and her body trembles, the anger and defiance within her coming to the surface. Her eyes narrow as she glares at Dad, and a sick smile twists on his mouth.
“Oh, here she is, Super-Mom,” he sneers, and I close my eyes, wishing he would just drop dead.
“I wish you’d died in that accident,” I say, turning to see Dad’s head snap toward me.
“Whatdid you fucking say?”
There’s a brief pause, one where Mom pleads with me with the same look she gives me every fucking time.
I’m tired and hungover, and I really don’t want to have to do this today.
But fuck it.
“I said, I wish you would’ve died in that accident.”
Dad crosses the room in a fit of rage, the only thing that seems to motivate him.
The first slap rings in my ears, his fists following suit as Mom screams, trying to drag him away from me.
“No! Stop!”
He’s a big guy, but I’m faster, and despite the whiskey flowing through my veins, I’m considered sober in comparison.
“Why don’t you fucking hit me back, you bastard? Huh? Hit meback!” Dad roars, lunging for me with a solid fist, sending me reeling.
There’s something about being beat up by your old man; it’s fucking frightening, yet you know if you can take his beating, you can take any.
But I’m done with his shit.
I swing back, my knuckles aiming for the back of his head as they connect with his jaw, his eyes widening in drunken disbelief as he topples back, trying to claw at the sides as he goes.
Without thinking, I sit astride him and slam my fists repeatedly into his fucking face, blood splattering on my clothes as Mom wraps her arms around me, doing her best to drag me back.
“Crane! Stop! Stopnow! Please!” Mom’s crying now, but I know it’s not because I’m kicking my deadbeat father’s ass. Oh no.
It’s fear.
She’s scared he’s going to kill us both.
Years of abuse force my fists to keep going, tears streaming down my face as Mom finally wins, pulling me back onto her, her hands reaching out to steady mine.
