When in Love, Forced to Part

I tugged my coat around my slender body, trying to get more heat. I was slowly walking home from soccer practice. I winced as I walked. The pain shaking through my body hurt like hell. No, soccer did not cause me this much pain. Itssomething or lets say someone at home that is the problem. I never liked home. I have no mom, my sister is never home, and my dad is not there for me in ways he should be. I continued walking lugging my soccer and book bag along.

Once I got home, I was happy to see my fathers car gone. A smile slowly made itself onto my face. I jogged to the front door unlocking it and sitting my stuff down at the bottom of the steps. I ran my hand through my hair. The place was a mess. I could not believe I had not noticed it until now. I began picking up broken beer bottles and weed bags, sighing. This was stupid, why should I pick up my fathers messes. It feels like I am some personal maid. I threw the trash back down on the ground.

“Fagot pick them up right now!”

I froze as my fathers deathly voice echoed in my eardrums. I felt a sharp pain come from my side. I yelped as it seared and dropped to the floor. “Bitch, I said pick it up,” he roughly kicked me in my rib cage. I winced. I quickly but steadily grabbed the trash and threw it away. Once I got to the living room I ran for the steps. I found out that was a bad idea, a very bad idea. My dads baseball bat smashed into my ankles. I cried out in pain, tears streaming down my anguished face. I jolted up as it collided with my now broken ribs. I gasped for air on impact.

“Please, dad,” I could not finish the sentence. He was not my father; he was a monster, someone who only cared for himself.

After that ordeal, he left me laying there, no intentions to take me to the hospital, or even help me. It was not a surprise, sadly. He left me just lying there. I tried to sit up, but the pain was just too much. I fingers trembled as I reached into my pocket for my cell phone.

Moments later the ambulance had me soon strapped to a stretcher. “Son, are you sure anyone did not do this to you?” A regular paramedic frowned at me. I nodded at him, the air mask slightly getting in the way. “This has become a weekly ritual,” he said sighing.

It was true, every week I get beat worse than the last. He does his best to leave me in pain all the time. He held nothing back. He let the alcohol set him free from all the worries in the world. Than come home beating me senselessly. I began to shake as the unbearable images floated around in my mind. I heard the silent beep erupt into my eardrums before blacking out.