What the hell does he mean? Is he going to beat me across my face? I felt sick to my stomach. I braced myself for the blows, clenching my ass cheeks tightly. He stood behind me and waited about a minute before striking my back with such force that I fell over, hitting my face on the rough, filthy floor. I inhaled sharply, clogging my windpipe with dust. I coughed and gagged, pushing the dirt from my lungs.
The sting from the strap was almost unbearable, but I didn't cry out. I closed my eyes tightly, holding back my sobs. I knew if I screamed, he would make it much worse for me. I zoned out mentally, seeking solace from the violent whipping upon my burning flesh.
The belt landed from the top of my shoulders to the bottom of my feet that day, covering me in welts from head to toe. That was the first time he struck my whole body with the strap. If I tried to wriggle away, he would hit me harder, so I stopped squirming and just took it.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stopped. He was out of breath and drenched in sweat. My whole body was on fire. I was sure he drew blood in some places, but I didn't dare try to assess the damage. I was shaking so hard that my teeth began to chatter.
After wiping his brow with his forearm, he looped his belt back onto his pants. He grabbed my clothes from the floor, throwing them in my face.
"Now get dressed, and the next time you even think of sticking your nose in my business, I will put you in the fucking hospital. You got that?"
My body quaked in fear as I nodded.
He looked at me, hissing through clenched teeth.
"I don't know why you interfered. It won't make a difference. I am still going to teach your mother a fucking lesson she won't ever forget, and just because you think you’re her Knight in shining armor, I expect you back at the house in ten minutes so you can watch me punish her anyway."
He laughed in my face, then turned and exited the barn. Once he was gone, I finally let the tears fall, sobbing uncontrollably until I had nothing left. That was the last time I cried. My tortured body felt like it was doused in hot coals. I could barely move, but I forced myself to stand on shaky legs, fearful of not returning to the house on time.
I didn't cry from the vicious thrashing I had just received or for my shitty plight in life. I was upset because he was going to punish my mother in front of me, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Atlas 17 years old
My father came home from work in a foul mood again. He was still abusing my mother, but not as often as he did when my brothers and I were younger. We were growing into men, and he wasn't nearly as intimidating as when we were children. As we aged, so did he.
He was still as strong as an Ox, but so was I. I had been working out for the last few years under the guise of joining the Russian SVR. His big dream for me. That's all I heard as a small boy. He drilled it in my head daily. Blah, Blah, Blah. Yeah, fat chance, ass hole. It was never going to happen. Not only did I bulk up physically, but I was a lot taller, too. I had reached a height of six-foot-four at the age of seventeen.
I towered over my father and was no longer afraid of him. I knew I could fucking kick his ass without as much as breaking a sweat. After so many years of him beating me to a pulp, I had grown cold and mean, just the way he had planned. I felt nothing and cared for no one except my two brothers and my mother. I had no sympathy for others and didn't give a shit about anything, which spilled over into my personal life. I had dated a few girls but wasn't interested in a serious relationship. I was terrified I would end up treating them the same way my dad treated my mom.
I met a girl who liked to be spanked and whipped as foreplay when I was sixteen. I never thought about adding pain into the equation with sex, but once I started playing with her, I became addicted. I loved everything about it. Their whimpers and cries turned me the fuck on. This only fed the monster I had become.
Was I like my father? Did I like to abuse women too? I didn't want to face those answers, so I tucked them safely into the farthest corners of my mind, forgetting about them. I wanted nothing to do with getting married or having children. I didn't have enough empathy running through my veins to care for another human being who wasn't one of my siblings. I did not want a relationship resembling my mother and father's. No. Fucking.Way!
He didn’t beat my mother in my presence like he used to. He would abuse her when I wasn't around, so I tried to be home as much as possible when he was in the house. She never deserved any of the shit he dished out. He was nothing but a fucking bully.
I am positive he stopped hitting her because I was a lot bigger than he was at this point. I sure in hell wasn't the same skinny, lanky boy he took pleasure in abusing daily. I was able to intervene without him retaliating.
He knew better than to try to lay a hand on me. I wouldn't have thought twice of knocking him on his fucking ass. Boy, how things have changed.
I was at least six inches taller and full of muscles. He was aware of the power shift between us, which made him angry, yet he didn't push the issue.
My mother did something stupid to set him off on this particular day. He was already in a shitty mood when he walked in. I paid no attention to him and went upstairs to lift weights. I thought by my being in the house, he wouldn't abuse her physically, just verbally, which I could tolerate because he had been doing it my whole life.
Mom became braver when I was around, screaming right back at him. Things were much different now than when I was too little to protect her, and she would cower in the corner shaking. They were yelling at one another, but it didn't set any alarms off in my head. It was evident he wasn't going to backhand her or beat her black and blue in front of me, so she gave it back to him.
I was happy she felt like she had at least a small measure of control after all these years. I loved my mother, and I planned on getting her out of there as soon as I turned eighteen. I stayed in my room, squeezing in a good workout. I felt great after pumping iron, knowing I was growing into a buff monster while letting out a lot of steam to lessen the stress surrounding me. I built up my body naturally. I never used steroids. The yelling between my parents had lessened in the last fifteen minutes. The chaos had stopped downstairs, affording me some peace. After lifting for about an hour, I jumped into the shower. My brothers were scattered around the house somewhere. They usually stepped out of the line of fire when things got loud between our parents.
Thanks to my dad's old family money, we lived in a massive mansion with six bedrooms, six bathrooms, and a vast garden that spanned several acres around the estate.
It's too bad the whole family was miserable living in such luxurious trappings, never appreciating the surrounding beauty. We were all too busy trying to survive to pay attention to the opulence around us.
When I stepped out of the shower, I heard my father screaming bloody murder downstairs. This was very different than one of his usual angry outbursts. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something was wrong.
I dried off quickly and threw on some clothes. I had purchased a 357 Magnum from a friend two weeks earlier for protection in case I ever needed it. I grabbed the gun, tucked it into the waistband of my jeans, and headed downstairs. I had it with my father's bull shit at this point.
My plan didn't include killing him; I took it as a cautionary measure. I wanted to punch his fucking head in, not shoot him. When I entered the parlor, he was hovered over my mother, screaming for her to wake up. She was slumped forward on the floor with blood pouring from an open wound on her head. The sticky substance was gushing from the injury, leaving a pool of crimson liquid at her feet.
My father's hands were coated in red. His expression was blank. He looked at me first, then back at his bloody hands. The whole scene was surreal. I ran over to them, pushed my father to the side, and cautiously cradled her head, being careful as I moved her. "MOM!! MOM!!! Please answer me!" She lay perfectly still, not breathing. She had struck the wall with such force that it tore a long gash across her skull that was opened to the bone.
