Read Online Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine by John Corwin - Free Book Online
Authors: John Corwin
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Children's Books, Fantasy, Fantasy & Magic, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Children's eBooks, Paranormal & Urban, Science Fiction; Fantasy & Scary Stories
Ads: Link
person out there who needs me more than you and your father. I have to do this. I have to make right a mistake I should have never made. I already hate myself for it and I pray you won't hate me too.
But if you do, I'll understand.
Please don’t blame your father and especially not yourself. I'm the one to blame.
I love you. Always.
Mom
I stared in shock at the letter. My mind stopped working. My body froze. This—this couldn't be true. I mobilized my muscles and ran into the den. Dad was snoring on the couch. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the coffee table. He hadn't shaved and he smelled like a medicine cabinet. I slumped into the easy chair next to the couch and stared at the mess. At the mess our lives had become. She had practically told me she was leaving and I hadn't done a thing to stop her. A ragged gasp tore from my throat. Who else in this miserable world could possibly need her more than me and Dad? How dare she leave us like this? Was she running into the arms of another man?
The thought made me sick. The woman who gave birth to me had no right to be out gallivanting around like a slut. She needed to be here. I yelled something incoherent and swept the empty bottles off the coffee table and onto the tile floor where they clattered, bounced and broke. I grabbed the table by the edge and flipped it. The table smashed against the floor, breaking even more bottles.
I hated her.
Dad jerked awake. He looked at me with glassy bloodshot eyes and burped. "It'll be okay, son." He pushed himself up and staggered down the hall to my parents'—his bedroom.
I ran after him. Grabbed his arm. Jerked him around. "How could you let her leave, you stupid bastard?" I screamed in his face. "What kind of an idiot are you?"
Rage contorted his face into an inhuman snarl. He punched the wall with a thunderous crack that seemed to shake the house, inches behind my head. Family pictures rained from the walls, the glass shattering. I yelped and fell on my butt. Tears cascaded down Dad's face as he stared with disbelief at the fist embedded in the drywall. He wrenched it free and held it toward me as if to help me up. I scooted away on my butt through the broken glass until I was back in the den and pulled myself to my feet.
Dad opened his mouth to say something then turned and shut the bedroom door behind him.
I stood there panting while grief knotted my throat. I stared at the broken glass and torn pictures on the floor, trying to derive some meaningless analogy from it. Broken bottles, broken lives. Except I'd been the one to break the bottles. If a lesson waited in those shards of glass, I was hard pressed to find it. I went to my bedroom and slammed the door shut as hot tears flooded my vision. Anger and resentment toward my dad boiled over. He must have done something to lose Mom. I know they say most kids blame themselves for their parents' problems, but I was a master at deflecting blame.
Obviously, Dad's lack of steady work and laziness had contributed to pushing Mom away. She was a successful accountant. Why should she have to support a deadbeat artist husband? I wasn't exactly the most adoring or thankful kid in the world, either. Or maybe she'd fallen in love with someone else and couldn't stand to be without him. Could be that was the tough decision she had to make. Anger coiled up in me like a snake, ready to lash out at anything breakable. But what else was there to break? I was already broken.
I took a deep shuddering breath. At this point, going emo was the only avenue left to me that made sense. I could dye my hair black and cut myself to feel better. Or, I could try to dig my way out of this hole. Stop feeling sorry for myself. Get off my lazy fat ass and take charge for once.
Something had to change. Since the world wasn't about to do me any favors, I decided I had to be the one to take action. Real action this time.
Chapter 8
Change is an easy word to say but a pain in the rear
But if you do, I'll understand.
Please don’t blame your father and especially not yourself. I'm the one to blame.
I love you. Always.
Mom
I stared in shock at the letter. My mind stopped working. My body froze. This—this couldn't be true. I mobilized my muscles and ran into the den. Dad was snoring on the couch. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the coffee table. He hadn't shaved and he smelled like a medicine cabinet. I slumped into the easy chair next to the couch and stared at the mess. At the mess our lives had become. She had practically told me she was leaving and I hadn't done a thing to stop her. A ragged gasp tore from my throat. Who else in this miserable world could possibly need her more than me and Dad? How dare she leave us like this? Was she running into the arms of another man?
The thought made me sick. The woman who gave birth to me had no right to be out gallivanting around like a slut. She needed to be here. I yelled something incoherent and swept the empty bottles off the coffee table and onto the tile floor where they clattered, bounced and broke. I grabbed the table by the edge and flipped it. The table smashed against the floor, breaking even more bottles.
I hated her.
Dad jerked awake. He looked at me with glassy bloodshot eyes and burped. "It'll be okay, son." He pushed himself up and staggered down the hall to my parents'—his bedroom.
I ran after him. Grabbed his arm. Jerked him around. "How could you let her leave, you stupid bastard?" I screamed in his face. "What kind of an idiot are you?"
Rage contorted his face into an inhuman snarl. He punched the wall with a thunderous crack that seemed to shake the house, inches behind my head. Family pictures rained from the walls, the glass shattering. I yelped and fell on my butt. Tears cascaded down Dad's face as he stared with disbelief at the fist embedded in the drywall. He wrenched it free and held it toward me as if to help me up. I scooted away on my butt through the broken glass until I was back in the den and pulled myself to my feet.
Dad opened his mouth to say something then turned and shut the bedroom door behind him.
I stood there panting while grief knotted my throat. I stared at the broken glass and torn pictures on the floor, trying to derive some meaningless analogy from it. Broken bottles, broken lives. Except I'd been the one to break the bottles. If a lesson waited in those shards of glass, I was hard pressed to find it. I went to my bedroom and slammed the door shut as hot tears flooded my vision. Anger and resentment toward my dad boiled over. He must have done something to lose Mom. I know they say most kids blame themselves for their parents' problems, but I was a master at deflecting blame.
Obviously, Dad's lack of steady work and laziness had contributed to pushing Mom away. She was a successful accountant. Why should she have to support a deadbeat artist husband? I wasn't exactly the most adoring or thankful kid in the world, either. Or maybe she'd fallen in love with someone else and couldn't stand to be without him. Could be that was the tough decision she had to make. Anger coiled up in me like a snake, ready to lash out at anything breakable. But what else was there to break? I was already broken.
I took a deep shuddering breath. At this point, going emo was the only avenue left to me that made sense. I could dye my hair black and cut myself to feel better. Or, I could try to dig my way out of this hole. Stop feeling sorry for myself. Get off my lazy fat ass and take charge for once.
Something had to change. Since the world wasn't about to do me any favors, I decided I had to be the one to take action. Real action this time.
Chapter 8
Change is an easy word to say but a pain in the rear
Similar Books
