My Curse Was Reversed

I guess you could say that I wasn't exactly enjoying my life at the moment. Ha, 'at the moment'. What I really mean is I've never enjoyed my life. Okay, sure, when I was a kid and my mother was still around maybe. But when I turned 6? Well that's really when my life went to crap.

She left us, me and dad. One day just packing her shit and walking out of the front door. I never knew why she left. My dad never told me, and I haven't spoken to her since she left. Now you're all probably thinking how much of a pussy I am, losing a parent happens to many families. But of course I'm not finished.

My dad was devastated. He'd loved her more than anything. Loved her more than me. So naturally, he wanted the pain to go away and who can really blame him? So that's when he turned to alcohol. At first I thought that it would only go on for a short period of time, but of course my 6 year old brain was very naïve.

He would spend all of our money on booze. On days off work, he would just sit in front of the TV and watch crappy reality shows. It was just terrible to watch. Someone who used to never stop smiling, someone who was such an important figure in my life, was gone. He'd been sucked into the addiction, caring about nothing and no one else.

School was painful for me. Literally. Everyday pushed against lockers and called names from middle school and up to high school. Every school has that loser kid, and that's me. But I soon became immune to it all, I grew a tougher skin. It's not like I had a choice.

But yesterday afternoon? Yesterday afternoon is what just broke me.

I'd just gotten back from the hell hole called school and of course I find my dad wasted. Stumbling all around the place with a broken bottle in his hand and blood pouring from his hand. And hey, even if he wasn't going to give a shit about me any time soon, he was still my father.

Of course I went over to help, carefully taking the bottle from him and dropping it into the trash. He was calm at first as I led him into our kitchen, he was fine while I ran his hand under a tap but what he didn't appreciate? When I said he'd need to go to hospital.

At first it was just a heated discussion. Nothing new, nothing to worry about, he'd normally go back to his beer and forget about it. But obviously something had riled him up today, something had made him pissed. So just over a little argument, I got a smack around the face.

But it didn't just stop there. After the first hit, it was like the animal inside him had finally escaped and I was the first victim. Hit after hit was thrown at my small frame until I fell to the ground. That's when the kicking began. His foot connecting to my stomach over and over again, causing me to cry in pain and curl into a ball.

After a while, the attack stopped for a moment. I was a whimpering mess on the floor, clutching onto my stomach and ribs, hoping it would cease the pain.

Suddenly I was jerked up by my hair, a yelp escaping my throat and a raspy plea for him to stop escaping my mouth. I was thrown back onto the kitchen counter, my head hitting the cupboard with a sickening thud and my back probably bruised badly.

I blinked rapidly while clinging onto the counter, trying to make the blurriness go away. I gingerly touched the back of my head, and felt a warm liquid in my fingers. Blood.

As he moved closer I stumbled away from him, trying not to fall flat on my ass. But his grubby hand threaded itself through my hair again and yanked me back. Making me cry out again. I was thrown against the nearest wall and soon a firm grip was forced onto my throat.

I clawed at his grip while trying to get air into my lungs, but failing. I watched in horror as he unbuckled and removed his belt, a disgusting grin making it's way onto his face.

The belt made an echoing slap when smashed against my legs. Loud yelps and cries was all of the sounds I could make as his tight grip loosened from around my throat. Himself becoming more intrigued with the belt.

And that's when the door was thrown open. He stopped whipping me and turned towards the door, his hand finally moving from my throat. My knees buckled beneath me and I collapsed to the floor, it wasn't long before I saw police piling through the door. They barked orders towards my dad, but I couldn't make the orders out. I was too focused on trying to stay awake.

After some loud shouting and banging a hand was placed on my shoulder. I looked up and found a young police women in front of me, my head was telling me to sleep. I was safe now. So I soon found myself sucked into darkness.

I'm now sat back in my room. After I woke in the hospital I was told that they'd contacted my mother, and guess where I was going to fucking live. Apparently I wasn't too seriously injured. Just a broken rib and a few bruises, so I was let out after a while, which was great for me. To hell with hospitals.

My bags are packed beside me and I should of been downstairs 10 minutes ago, but I'm trying to delay the fact that I have to meet my mother again. I just don't want to speak to the woman who caused all of this in the first place. But of course as I'm only 15, I have no choice.

"Maxwell! Time to go!" A voice called upstairs, I ignored it completely and just kept staring at the flaking wall. We never had the money to redecorate, so the house was a mess, especially with all of the broken alcohol bottles over the living room.

"Maxwell, I said it's time to go." The voice came again, I looked over at the door to find a male policeman, not looking too pleased about having to deal with me.

I sigh lightly and stand up slowly, trying not to yelp. I grab my bags and turn back towards the door, let's fucking get this over with.