Damn, I Hate You

The day went by quickly. Ashley stayed in her room and Jaimie and I watched movies. The thing that made it drag was that I couldn't find it in me to go to sleep. I guess I had fallen asleep too late in the day. Damn, I hate doing that so much!

So, all night I thought of possibilities. What ifs flooded my mind and here I am, standing outside my appartment door. Lovely.

My first what if was "what if you go home and dad's gone out getting drunk." The answer's simple: chill at home until he gets there. Once he's there, deal with whatever shit he does, because he's not going to have the strength at this point to fuck you up. Besides, worse comes to worse, you're leaving tomorrow forever.

My next what if was "what if it is possible to stay and live with Jaimie?" but that question went away quickly when I thought about how well Ashley and I get along.

What if Mr. B can't take me in? What if Mr. B. starts hating me once I live with him; people always find it easier to love me until they know me. The only exception to that rule is Jaimie! What if I end up having to stay with my dad or if he ends up not going to prison for this? What if, what if, what if?!

I was plunging quickly into the grips of insanity and every fiber of my being was cold and tense. "Deryk, did you go to sleep?" Jaimie had asked me when she woke up in my arms. I shook my head and she sighed. "You need to, baby. It's not good for you to stay awake just thinking. Well, it's bad for every aspect of your health I mean."

"I know, but it's hard to sleep when you barely woke up around noon." I explained.

"Remind me that you're never allowed to take a nap around me." she laughed. My arms loosened a bit and she let out a sigh. "Damn. You were really freaked, huh." she mused when I released her.

"I was just thinking. You know how that goes." I said. She took my hand and looked into my eyes.

"Everything's going to be alright. Come this time tomorrow, your life will be perfect."

I smiled. Then we watched cartoons and tried behaving civily with her sister when she emerged from her room. One thing led to another, and she finally had to let me go home. I needed to shower and get extra clothes and do all the other things people normally only do at their own personal houses.

Now was the time when my heart was pounding. Normally I would be saying something like "I don't give a fuck whether the bastard's around or not; I'm going in there, damn it!" but today I couldn't bring myself to just walk in. Then again, Friday night was a lot crazier than any other night of our lives. I was different, he was different, and we were probably never meant to be together again, family or not.

I reached my hand to the door. I could feel my pulse racing in my fingertips as it made contact with the metal. Don't be a pussy, Deryk, just do it! I listened to the words of Nike, and twisted. Damn, it's locked!

I felt like I was both wasting and killing time as I put the key in the hole and twisted. I opened the door and found the house a little more pleasant than the condition I'd left it in. The picture of me that had been on the wall was burned. Not entirely, but you could see he had thought about destroying it and then stopped as it was charred right next to the fire place. Pictures of my mom were scattered along the coffee table. Great. So he had a psychotic break down while I was out.

"Hello." I forced out as confidently as I could as I continued walking around. There was no response. But that didn't mean anything. I could never expect a response from him if he was here, so why I bothered to say anything was beyond me. Maybe it was to remind me that this was a home and not just a desolate wasteland of what once was.

"What do you want?" came my dad's voice from down the hall.

"I kinda live here, still." I said sarcastically. Damn it, screwed up already.

"Not for long. Come tomorrow, your ass is gone. I'll let you pack your shit and get it together tonight." he said.

"Why do you have to do this?" I asked, tears coming to my eyes. "We're a family. We could still be happy. Two people can still be considered a family, but you never wanted that, did you?" I was mumbling more than shouting. It was complaints, not arguments.

"You can never understand." he said.

"I bet I could. If you had a way to explain it, I would totally understand. The problem here is that you don't understand. You can't explain it yourself, so there's no way you could explain it to me. Leave me alone. I'm going to pack. I'll grab my stuff after school and you won't see me again." I pushed passed him and into my room.

"Hey, don't talk to me like that! You're still my son!"

"I'm not your son. Your a father and son when you're there and care for your kid. You have to provide unconditional love and show some support if you wanna be considered a parent. But what do you do? You fuck around, you get drunk, and you beat the shit outta me. All you've ever done is make me bitter, independent, rude, and sore. You never helped me out, you never gave me a hug, and you never praised me. You did the complete opposite. Your not a father. You're just the person who collected the welfare checks to keep me alive all these years. Tax payers supported me all these years. I supported myself when it came to emotional needs. You aren't my dad, and I'm not your son." The words poured out naturally.

"I never loved you because you were a little faggot who needed to be toughened up."

"Bull shit!"

"Oh really? What's all this poetry crap? You are a little gay bastard!"

"Poetry is so well respected and so influential. Tupac was a poet. Poe was a poet! Don't judge poetry just because you can't do it!" I was almost yelling. He stormed over to the computer. Oh shit.

"My heart is frozen from unfallen tears/ I cry out for help, but nobody hears/ They're all forced away because of their fears/ Unloved and forgotten all of my years. Oh yeah, tell me that's not faggot ass shit." Dad yelled.

"Man, whatever. I don't need this. I'm not arguing with you anymore." I said.

"Don't act like your so superior 'cause you can use flowery little words!"

"I don't. I act like a smart ass. I act like a kid who's dad never bought him his perscribed ADHD and depression meds. I act like a kid who's dad beat the crap outta him his whole life. I don't act like a fag."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're too dramatic to act like anything but a fag. Look at you now." he yelled.

"I'm sorry. Since when is crying about a shitty life gay?"

"It's always been. That's why I never let you cry."

"No, dad. You never let me cry because you didn't want me to feel as weak as you." I said. I think I was starting to understand it. My dad always had my mom to emotionally support him. Once she left, he had no one. He still wasn't ready to be the shoulder to cry on, though, so he would beat me whenever I cried so I would learn not to cry. He did all of that so he would never have to mature and worry about me. He made me heartless all because he was too immature. I think I prefer not understanding it.

"Don't try pulling any psychology shit on me." he yelled.

"Trust me, dad, I know a lot of psychological mind tricks that could fuck up your brain like nothing. You haven't seen anything. I'm not pulling any shit. I'm leaving you alone, and I'm asking you do the same."

"You know what? Fuck you kid. Pack your shit. I can't wait until your gone." he said. He was never going to learn; he was never going to grow up. I hope he finds a good gay cell mate to cry on when he realizes that I'm the biggest regret of his life; not that my life is a mistake, but that what he's done for my life was all wrong. I'd say I pity the fool, but I'm not Mr. T, and he's not worth my pity.