The Worst Choice

Nash.

"Mom?" I called out. They were fighting again and I could only hope it wouldn't be so bad that mom would have to call off the park.

"You're never home!" Dad's deep voice boomed. "I watch that boy all damn day, Destiny! And I ask you to bring me home beer so I could watch TV tonight, and you tell me you 'don't have the money'? And where the fuck did all the money on the credit card go, huh?! Have you been sleeping around like the little slu-"

"You know what, Jim?" Mom cut him off sharply. "I'm done. I am so sick of you and everything you're putting us through! We're tight on money, if you can't tell, so buying you beer and a damn wrestling pay-per-view is way to expensive, but you can't understand that! So I'm done."

"What does that mean?" Dad sneered.

"It means I'm taking Nash and Eric, and we're leaving. They don't need to deal with you. We'll stay with my sister or something and don't worry, you'll be getting the divorce papers." A sickening slap was heard next, causing me to jump. I heard my mom start sobbing terribly. "Please! Please, Jim, don't do it! Oh god, please!"

Dad laughed a laugh that sounded like it emitted from Jafar's throat. "It's too late, Destiny," he said. "It's too late."

I pushed the door open a little bit, my eyes widening when I saw her. She was laying on the ground, bleeding. I couldn't figure out from where. It sounded like she was choking on her sobs. All this, and I still couldn't bring myself to do anything.

My eyes moved to my dad, who was straddling her. He was laughing, a mischievous look in his eyes. Overall, he looked... he looked proud. Suddenly, he pulled both his hands over his head, the light hitting the shiny knife before he brought it down to mom.

And all too fast, everything stopped. Mom's crying. The knife. And mom stopped fighting back, her body falling back onto the floor.

I shot up from my bed, trying to breathe. It was almost like somebody was cutting my air off. I'd never had a nightmare like that. I've had nightmares of my father killing me or Eric, finding out all over again that my mom was killed and just eerie dreams that involved my father, but never have I dreamt of that day.

"Holy fuck!" I hissed as I tried to lean over, the sharp pain in my ribs shooting up my body. I just laid back down, trying to keep my mind off the pain that was taking over every inch of my body. Dad was worse last night. A lot worse than usual. He used his hands, beer bottles, lighter and walls to his extreme advantage.

I felt my heart stop and body freeze when I heard the front door open. I glanced over at the wall clock to my left. It was only four... dad shouldn't be home by now. I snorted; he probably got himself fired.

I laid perfectly still, trying to listen to where the steps were headed to. I was praying that he wouldn't come up here for more- I honestly don't know if I could take much more right now. But as I listened, it seemed like the footsteps had no destination- they were just wandering. And the footsteps weren't dad's heavy boots.

"What the fuck?" I mumbled, slowly getting up. I did my best to ignore the pain in my right foot as I quietly walked out of my room and down the steps slowly. When I made it to the bottom, I stopped immediately. She was standing with her back toward me, looking at the broken pictures that were barely hanging on the wall. I couldn't help but notice how her dark blue shirt and denim shorts hugged her perfectly.

But that wasn't enough to distract me from the fact that she was here. In my house. While I was beat up awfully. And dad could get laid off any second and come home drunk, seeing her here. I shuddered at the thought. I tried forming a complete sentence, but nothing would come out. Finally, I was able to come up with something.

"What?"

Ashlyn.

"You can do this, Ashlyn," I muttered to myself. "You can do this." I pushed open the door, wincing at the creaking noise it made. I quickly shut the door, hoping to make as little noise as possible. There were stairs to my left, but I walked toward the living room on my right. The couch has dozens of holes in it and looked so worn out that it would probably collapse any second now. The top of the walls and ceiling were tinted a yellowish color- probably from smoke. The beige carpet had countless of stains on it.

I walked a little further, planning on looking for Nash's room, but stopped when I saw framed pictures on the wall. Curious, I walked a little bit closer. There were three pictures. The one on the left was of a young boy- I'm assuming Nash, due to his big blue-grey eyes, jet-black hair and pale skin. He had a huge goofy smile on his face.

The one all the way to the right was of a baby boy. His light brown hair didn't quite match Nash's, so maybe Eric? Either way, he looked no older than two, yet he was still had a big, open-mouthed smile.

The one in the middle was of Nash and Eric, with a beautiful woman- looking like she was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. She had long, wavy brown hair and light blue eyes. She had a beautiful smile. I quickly realized that it was Nash's mom.

A voice snapped me out of my thoughts. It sounded like a cross between a whimper and a plea, with anger strongly laced through it. "What?"

I turned and it didn't even take me a second to realize why Nash wasn't at school today.