fucking blink. What I want more than anything right now is my mom. She’d make the hurt go away. I’d curl up on her lap. She’d pet my hair and hum a song. I’d listen to her sing and die peacefully on her lap. That’s the only thing I’ve ever prayed to God about. Not that he ever listens. But that’s what I’ve always wanted. To die in her arms. To be taken away from this hell and the demon who rules it.
But that hasn’t happened yet. Mom is one suicide attempt away from a mental hospital. No one is listening to me pray because it’s as if God doesn’t exist. No one is going to save me and Noah. That’s why I can’t pass out. He’s got nobody but me. I can’t leave him alone in this. And I think…I think Dad’s coming close to breaking him. That’s why I always try to draw Dad’s attention to me. I can handle it. When he’s beating the shit out of me, he leaves Noah alone.
The heavy thread of approaching footsteps is all the warning I get before beefy fingers fist through my hair, gripping a handful, and tug me up so that I’m dangled from only that hold, my toes barely touching the ground.
“I’m going to make sure that an ocean liner can cruise through your filthy little asshole when I’m done with you, dog.”
I’m shaking. The pain feels like it’s coming from every pore on my body, but the anger gives me something to focus on. It’s a pitch-black pit centered right at my core. With one eye swollen shut and the other barely open to see much, I stare up unflinchingly into the dead eyes of Satan himself.
I scoff, “I’m only twelve and my dick is bigger than yours, fucker.” I spit out the mucous-filled blood that lines my mouth.
He sends me sailing through the air. My body lands with a sickening thunk against the oil burner. He takes one, two, three giant charging steps toward me, barreling down with all the force and power of a two hundred and some odd pounds man subduing a child.
“NO! Dad. No! I’ll do it! I’ll do it! Please! Please let me do it!”
I can’t hear Noah over the sound of my flesh tearing as our dad makes good on his threat. I can’t hear my twin begging and crying anymore because my screams are too loud.
“AHHHHH!”
The scream brings reality back into focus as the slivers of the dark memory blur away. It’s the little girl fighting and screaming as dick-sheet guy pulls her father into the room and slams the door closed.
Even with the barrier of the bedroom door closed, the muffled “I want my daddy!” can still be heard. “I want my daddy!” she cries again. It’s a high, screeching sound that coincides with her father’s tortured scream. Looking over to the side, I see Dro raising the crowbar and slamming it down on Baz’s right kneecap. He does it again and again, like he’s hammering a nail into wood. All there is is the screaming. So much fucking screaming. “Daddy! Daddy!”
“Shut the fuck up or I’m going to blow your daddy’s head off!” Can’t stand kids.
Silence. Fucking golden.
Approaching Dro, I’m quick to realize his method isn’t going to get the job done any faster. All the goddamned screaming is bound to get someone to call the police, sooner or later. I don’t want to be around if they decide to make it sooner.
Drawing the SIG from the back of my jeans, I close the short gap between us and send the butt of the gun crashing against Baz’s face. “Where the fuck is it?”
Residual shit from my latest memory develops into blazing anger. I can’t see straight. All I want is to beat something to a bloody pulp. I press the gun to Baz’s temple. I’d settle for shooting him, too. “Talk, or I pull the trigger.” Serious as fucking cancer, I take off the safety, my finger poised at the trigger. There’s a silencer attached to the barrel. No one will hear anything.
“I…shit…okay, man, okay. There’s…there’s four grand in the back of the freezer, inside the waffle box.”
“And my product?”
Looking at
But that hasn’t happened yet. Mom is one suicide attempt away from a mental hospital. No one is listening to me pray because it’s as if God doesn’t exist. No one is going to save me and Noah. That’s why I can’t pass out. He’s got nobody but me. I can’t leave him alone in this. And I think…I think Dad’s coming close to breaking him. That’s why I always try to draw Dad’s attention to me. I can handle it. When he’s beating the shit out of me, he leaves Noah alone.
The heavy thread of approaching footsteps is all the warning I get before beefy fingers fist through my hair, gripping a handful, and tug me up so that I’m dangled from only that hold, my toes barely touching the ground.
“I’m going to make sure that an ocean liner can cruise through your filthy little asshole when I’m done with you, dog.”
I’m shaking. The pain feels like it’s coming from every pore on my body, but the anger gives me something to focus on. It’s a pitch-black pit centered right at my core. With one eye swollen shut and the other barely open to see much, I stare up unflinchingly into the dead eyes of Satan himself.
I scoff, “I’m only twelve and my dick is bigger than yours, fucker.” I spit out the mucous-filled blood that lines my mouth.
He sends me sailing through the air. My body lands with a sickening thunk against the oil burner. He takes one, two, three giant charging steps toward me, barreling down with all the force and power of a two hundred and some odd pounds man subduing a child.
“NO! Dad. No! I’ll do it! I’ll do it! Please! Please let me do it!”
I can’t hear Noah over the sound of my flesh tearing as our dad makes good on his threat. I can’t hear my twin begging and crying anymore because my screams are too loud.
“AHHHHH!”
The scream brings reality back into focus as the slivers of the dark memory blur away. It’s the little girl fighting and screaming as dick-sheet guy pulls her father into the room and slams the door closed.
Even with the barrier of the bedroom door closed, the muffled “I want my daddy!” can still be heard. “I want my daddy!” she cries again. It’s a high, screeching sound that coincides with her father’s tortured scream. Looking over to the side, I see Dro raising the crowbar and slamming it down on Baz’s right kneecap. He does it again and again, like he’s hammering a nail into wood. All there is is the screaming. So much fucking screaming. “Daddy! Daddy!”
“Shut the fuck up or I’m going to blow your daddy’s head off!” Can’t stand kids.
Silence. Fucking golden.
Approaching Dro, I’m quick to realize his method isn’t going to get the job done any faster. All the goddamned screaming is bound to get someone to call the police, sooner or later. I don’t want to be around if they decide to make it sooner.
Drawing the SIG from the back of my jeans, I close the short gap between us and send the butt of the gun crashing against Baz’s face. “Where the fuck is it?”
Residual shit from my latest memory develops into blazing anger. I can’t see straight. All I want is to beat something to a bloody pulp. I press the gun to Baz’s temple. I’d settle for shooting him, too. “Talk, or I pull the trigger.” Serious as fucking cancer, I take off the safety, my finger poised at the trigger. There’s a silencer attached to the barrel. No one will hear anything.
“I…shit…okay, man, okay. There’s…there’s four grand in the back of the freezer, inside the waffle box.”
“And my product?”
Looking at
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