Damn, I Hate You

She left me before my dad came home. "You sure you don't wanna come to my place?" She asked before she left.

"Nah, it's cool. Honestly, I think he got it outta his system last night. I should be fine. If nothing else, I'll just leave." I smiled at her assuringly.

She was still concerned. "You can hardly move, though! How do you expect to leave?"

"I have my ways. I'll call you, if I'm screwed beyond words, though, and you can come to my rescue." I said. She laughed.

"You're my knight in shining armor, though!"

"Psh, get me some new armor, please. The one I have doesn't seem to be very effective!" I joked.

"Come here." She said. "I'll be there for you if you get hurt. Just don't push your luck or anything. I really love you and if I saw you any worse-"

"I'll be fine. Trust me, I got this, babe." I said as she leaned over to hug me. I kissed her cheek and she kissed my forehead. She mussed my hair and shut the door quietly, knowing the six advil I'd taken since she'd been here hadn't done much to help me. I sat with my eyes closed for a moment, and then changed the channel. Blah, nothing's on!

"Hey, kid. Move. I wanna sit on the couch." My dad said, not five minutes after Jaimie'd left. Guess she'd escaped just in time.

"Dude, I can barely move. Can you sit on the chair tonight? Please?" I begged him.

"What the- no! This is my house, kid! If you were able to move your lazy ass from your room to here you're good enough to move it over to the chair yourself." he barked.

I tried getting up. "Oh come on, you know you aren't that pathetic." He said, smacking the back of my head as if it would make me move.

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm having a hard time. I dunno, what the hell did you do last night, 'cause I'm beyond fucked up from it." I complained.

"Stop being a lil pussy." He said, grabbing me by the arm and thrusting me to the chair I had told him to sit in. I missed it, though, and ended up knocking it over and landing in a heap with it on the floor. God, my entire body was screaming with pain. Don't say anything, Deryk. He's done. I watched him go to the kitchen and grab a beer. Get up, dude. He's going to fuck you up if he gets drunk unless you hide.

Trying to follow my own advice, I got up and limped my way away from the wreckage that was once the chair. I tried making it down the hall but ended up tripping. Damn, my entire body was throbbing. Just stay here, before you make it worse.

"What are you doing?" he asked annoyed.

"Just going to my room." I grunted.

"Good. I don't wanna see you."

"Dude, ok, I'm sick of this. Why do you act like you hate me so much? It's bull shit. I never did anything wrong. The worst I ever did was show a little bit of attitude. Other than that, I've practically been an ideal kid. I bring home good grades, I do what you tell me- why do you act like such a jerk?" I couldn't stop the words from coming out. It almost hurt me to say them, I realized. Was it guilt for asking or tension as I prepared to die for saying them? Either way, I was not ready for what happened.

He fell to the ground. "You're just like her."

"You still aren't over her? She left me too. I know it hurts. It hurts both of us, dude. Instead of beating the shit outta me, though, why didn't you ever just talk to me about it? We still had each other! You didn't have to do any of this!" I was scolding him, now. Who's the adult here? Shut up, Deryk, before he comes to his senses.

He was crying, his head in his beefy hands. "I- You reminded me of her, though. The way you talk back, the way you hope, even the way you look is exactly like her!" He cried. "Every time I look into your hazel eyes or see your messy hair, I think of her! She never tried looking perfect for anyone, and neither do you! And I can't stand seeing you and still knowing that she's never coming back!" he was disgusting when he cried. Do I care if he cries? How many times have I held back tears because of his fist? How many times have I lied because I wanted to protect his sorry ass? And now here he was, weaker than I had ever been. I never was allowed to cry when mom died.

I remember, distinctly, him telling me to shut up the night of Mother's Day when I first lost her. He had told me I was a man now, and men didn't cry. When I couldn't control it, he smacked me. When I cried because of the blow, he hit me harder. By the time I had my fourth beating, I wasn't able to cry over it anymore.

I remember hiding in my closet, thinking I was safe to cry there. Whenever June fourth rolled around and he visited her grave, I hid in the closet, hoping he wouldn't know I'd been crying while he was gone. On Mother's Days, I would hide still, praying he wouldn't accidentally hear me and beat me more. By the time I was ten, I stopped crying altogether in fear that I would get beaten for it. I became a heartless monster for awhile. I hated myself. I hated everything. And it's all his fault.

"Don't you remember, Dad? Men don't cry. I know it hurts. It hurts more than anything else to lose your mom when you're four. No, that's a lie. What hurts more than that is having your only parent call you a sissy for crying over her death! What hurts even more is having him beat you for crying and showing emotion. But you know, I think the greatest pain is having to find your emotions again while also hiding them in fear that you'll get killed for them; in fear that your only parent will hate you even more for showing that you feel or hurt you more because you do the slightest thing wrong. I know it hurts, dad. Don't make me try to feel pity just because you're crying." By the time I was done with my speech, I was holding back tears. But they all dried as I saw him crying before me. I don't feel bad for him. I feel anger. Why does he get to show emotion? Why does he get to do this? Why should I care about him?

Because he's a person still. Because he never understood you and now he finally does and realizes he was wrong. Yet, if he realized that, he would appologize. So then, he must not. No, I don't feel anything for this crying loser.