A Twist in my Story

I grunted in pain as my so called father slammed me into the wall with excitement gleaming in his dark brown eyes. The grin was obvious on his face as he brought his knee towards my crotch, cornering me between the wall and his pudgy body. I bit my lip as his knee connected with my crotch, bringing tears to my eyes making a haunted laugh leave his chapped lips. I looked up at his middle aged face, the wrinkles near his eyes and along his forehead making his amused expression obvious as he breathed his intoxicated breath onto my face.
This man was supposed to be my father, but to me, I had no father. This man was just a guy that I lived with, a guy I was sadly related to, a guy that just haunted the body of my father. That was all that was left of my father, his outer shell, the body that use to belong to a kind, generous man, but now, now I would rather live in an orphanage or out on the streets than live with someone who refused to feed me, someone that refused to let me use a bed, with someone that hung me from the ceiling by my wrists when he was away or asleep just to keep me from running away or using the guest room for sleep.
My wrists were always red and sensitive, my body was as thin as twigs and my arms were as strong as silly string. I felt the back of my [father’s hand come in contact with my already bruised cheek, a tear slipping out of my pain-filled green eyes.
My father gripped onto my ruffled, messy, black hair and used it to tug me off of the ground, leaving me to grope onto his hands for support so I wouldn’t go crashing to the ground with pain running through my weak legs and bald head.
“Let go you fucking fag,” I heard him say as he swung me towards the wall, my grip loosening as he yanked half a head-full of hair out of my head before throwing it to the ground.
I could feel the trickling of blood running down my cheeks as he cornered me once again, smirking down at my frail body. He pulled back his right arm as he balled his hand into a fist before punching me as hard as he could on my cheek, making me fall to the side with my hand grasping my cheek in pain as more tears slipped from my eyes, down my face. I tried to crawl away from this horrible man but he grabbed my ankle, his grip tightening around my bony foot.
“I thought you were supposed to be a man,” the man hissed at me pulling me back towards him “but you are just what I always thought you were. You’re a woman born in a man’s body. Why don’t you give it back girly?”
“Only if you give the woman back her body, old man,” I hissed back, before I could stop myself.
“What did you say you fucking cunt?” my father boom angrily as I tried to tug my foot out of his grip, screaming as his hand continued to squeeze my ankle, the pain becoming worse than unbearable.
“You heard me,” I snarled in response, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get of this situation anyway.
“Don’t you ever, ever fucking speak to me that way, no wonder the fucking slut called your mother crashed into that tree. I bet she did it on purpose to get away from the failure of a child she had produced,” he hissed as a loud crunching sound echoed through the room while a sharp pain ran through my ankle making my scream become louder.
“Don’t speak about Ma that way,” I sobbed as I felt my father drop my foot carelessly, causing more pain to run through my ankle as it made contact with carpeted floor.
“Yeah? What the fuck can you do about it?” He roared, before sending a kick towards my ribs causing my to fly back until I made contact, once again with the wall. “Stay here,” he snarled before disappearing out of the lounge room and into the kitchen.
I gulped before attempting to make my way to my feet, and stagger over to the phone, limping as my ankle screamed out in pain at me. I let out a shaken sigh as I picked up the phone and dialled 000, hoping that I had enough time to speak to them.
“Hello, this is the emergency service, how may I help you?” the woman asked as she spoke from the other line.
“I—”
“I told you to stay where you were you fucking piece of shit. Who the fuck are you on the phone to? Did you call the cops on my ass? Fuck you!” he screamed before throwing the knife he had retrieve from the kitchen directly towards my head, but luckily I had ducked just in time, the tip of the blade scraping my already sensitive scalp, making it bleed once again as I cried out in pain.
“Sir?” I heard the woman ask from the other side of the phone in a panicked tone.
“Hang up you piece of shit, inform them that there is nothing wrong,” my father hissed, stepping towards me with a threatening tone.
Weighing my options, I decided to hang up, but not inform her on anything, I just had to hope for the best.
“I told you to fucking tell her that nothing was wrong!” he boomed angrily as stared down at me with furious eyes.
“S-she hung up,” I stuttered back, as I dropped the phone back onto the table top.
“Lies!” he screeched angrily as he advanced towards me, watching as I tried to limp away from his furious frame.
I watched as he tugged the knife out of the wall, moving towards my shaking frame, my eyes widening as I realized that I had once again cornered myself, but this time, I was actually in a corner.
“P-please, don’t hurt me, I-I’m your son!” I cried, pleading as I clasped my hands together as he rose the knife, aiming it directly for the center of my forehead.
“A lousy one at that,” he snarled, obviously weighing his options in his head.
I could feel my fast beating heart skip a beat as the sound of sirens ran through the neighborhood, making my father’s eyes widen in fear. He swallowed nervously, before his arm that held the knife wavered a bit as he listened to the sound of the sirens move closer.
The man grabbed one of my scarred, bruised arms without a second thought before, spinning me around so that my back was pressed against his stomach, and without another second passing by he pressed his knife to my throat just as blue and red lights pulled in front of our driveway, the sound of sirens still bellowing through the air.
“We have you surrounded, please come out with your hands in the air,” I heard a male voice yell into the night air.
I could feel the blade trembling as it was pressed against my throat but my father pushed my forwards anyway until we were at the front door. He hissed for me to open the door as he dug the knife deeper, breaking my skin as I felt my blood trickle down my neck.
I followed the man’s actions as I opened the door, trying to match his footsteps as we moved out into the cold night air. I could feel the cool winter breeze blow against my half naked body, but the cool air didn’t bother me one bit.
Outside was as beautiful as I remembered, the last time I had left the house would have been when I was six or seven, before Ma had died. Every day, I stared outside from the spot I hung in the guest bedroom, thinking about what it was like to be able to live outside like a normal person, but I had never experienced it and I thought I never would, but now, now it could possibly be an option but I did know that tonight wouldn’t be the night to experience it either, instead, I stared at the several police cars, and ambulance’s that had pulled up the driveway, noticing that every police man and woman had their guns ready as bulletproof vests were visible under their coats, while the paramedics hid behind their ambulance’s waiting for the ‘okay’ to come out.
“Move any closer and I kill the boy,” I heard the gruff voice of my father say from behind me.
“Please sir, think about what you’re doing,” the closest police officer said, trying to reassure the man.
“I know what I’m doing, now, drop your weapons, I am not afraid to kill this thing,” he said again, indicating towards me, as I stared at the first police officer, begging him to do what he was told with my eyes.
A sigh left the police officers mouth before he informed everyone to drop their weapons, my father watching as they placed their guns onto the yellow grass.
I notice the police officer’s eyes flicker past my face for a second before returning back to look at my father and I.
“Please, you don’t have to do this,” the officer begged again.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” the man snarled, digging the knife a bit deeper making me wince in pain as more blood trickled down my front.
“Release the boy, I will shoot,” I voice boomed from behind us.
I was confused on what had happened next because in the matter of seconds I was on the ground, clutching my throat as I looked wide-eyed at the knife that now lay in front of me, thickly covered in blood. The paramedics ran forwards, checking my heart rate as they moved quickly to wrap a bandage around my throat, and it was then when everything went black.