Ashley

Ronnie's POV

But Dad was still there. "Car...Caroline, y'know what I heard? I...I heard Ron knocked some chick up. Mike...Mike said so."

I gaped at him. Michael had told him? "That whore's carrying Ron's ugly mug in her?" Dad stammered. I blinked at him. Michael had told him, Dad had just called Ashley a whore, and me ugly. I was almost at the edge. Michael helped push me.

"See, Ronnie? Ashley is a whore."

I narrowed my eyes. "You told Dad!"

"So? Not like I really care about your little girlfriend."

Dad lumbered out of the room somewhere. "She's...she's not a whore!" I argued.

"Really? She only did you because she was drunk. I don't know who would hit that when they were sober. In fact, I hardly believe she did when she was drunk. Sure you didn't rape her?"

"Michael," I growled. "You're an asshole."

He smirked. "Really now. Do I tell my brother "You're no brother of mine"?"

"Do I tell my father that my brother got a 15-year-old girl pregnant? Do I go around calling her a whore because of that? Do I insult my brother to his face, while I'm drunk?"

Michael conspicuously swallowed.

"You know what, Michael?" I neared him. I got right by his face. "You're just like Dad."

He shook his head. Then he punched me in the face.

"What the fuck!?" I shouted.

"You think you're so great. Little Ronnie Radke; feel sorry for him. His mommy left him when he was a baby. Does anyone remember my name? NO!" He swung his fist at me again. My nose had begun to bleed.

Instinctively, I punched him back. He raised a hand to his face. He studied the blood on his hands. He growled at me, then lept on top of me. He pinned me to the floor. "I hate you, Michael Peter Radke! I mean that," I hissed.

"Ronnie, I've hated you for a long time," he replied, twisting my right arm backwards.

"Ah! Stop!" I pleaded.

He smiled evilly. "Families are like a toothpick tower. One little toothpick snaps," he bent my arm back farther. I heard a loud snap, and pain shot through my arm. I screamed. "And you fall the whole tower."

I kicked him in the stomach and rolled onto my side, caressing my arm. I was still screaming in pain. "YOU'RE....A FUCKING...DOUCHEBAG!" I no longer felt pain in my arm. It was something beyond pain. I cringed as I struggled to stand myself up. I gave him one good punch to the face and took off out the door. I ran as far as I could. I passed out four houses down from loss of blood and the pain from my broken arm.