Disclaimer: The Mighty Ducks are not mine in any way shape or form. It's unfortunate but it's true... so no sue... no sue! (like my rhyme? ;) )
Title: Starts with a 'W'
Author: Kloe Hart (HartBeat)
This story was inspired by the fanfiction 'TwentySix', so thanks a ton! Partial credit for the letter idea:D
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Portman's POV:
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'W' stands for 'Worry'
Sometimes I think I worry too much. And other times I worry that I don't worry enough. There's too much worry. Most recently the source of my stress is coming from my mom's boyfriend. Hank. He's a total ass wipe. He smokes too much and drinks even more. I'd need ten hands to count the number of times he's come home completely wasted. A lot of the times he'd throw things. Plates, pictures, lamps. Two nights ago he hit her. That bastard hit my mom.
"Fucking bitch!" Hank came stumbling threw the front door ofthe bungalow. He reeked of alchohol. He staggered for a moment and then looked around the small living room.
"You can't keep this fucking place clean for more then a day can you!"He slurred.
She's the single mother of a teenage boy. What'd he expect?
"I don't know why I put up with you, you whore!"
"Don't call me that!"
My mother's eyes were filling up with tears by then. I remembered their previous night's conversation. He'd promised not to come home drunk again. So much for that. Then he'd leaned over, practically falling over, to grab mom's antique lamp. Her wedding gift from my slightly more decent father. He threw it. I remember watching it fly through the air. My mother's eyes following it the whole way. That's why she didn't see Hank storming towards her. Not until it was too late anyway. He pulled his hand back and slapped her across the face. That's when I got up off the couch.
"Keep your fucking hands off my mom!" I'd screamed. He turned to me. His face red with rage. Mom was backing away a little bit, her hand on her cheek.
"You are constantly interfereing with my business boy!"
Duh. He treats my mom like shit and I'm supposed to put up with it like she does? Not a chance.
"Hank! Don't!" My mom cried.
That's when he hit me. Or tried to. He was stumbling his way over to me and I had more then enough time to prepare myself. He started swinging. He didn't have any real sense of aim. I caught his arm and yanked it. He cried out as his shoulder left it's joint. He got a pretty decent blow to my stomach but that's when my mom came back with a pan from the kitchen.Once he was unconsious we dragged him out the back and tossed him over the small fence so that he was lying on the sidewalk. We went back inside, locked all the doors and window and then my mom cried. I cried to. Not that I'd tell anybody.
Hank didn't come back that night. Or the night after. All our windows are still locked though. My hockey starts in a week and a half so I'll be leaving her by herself. This is where I think I don't worry enough, because as much as I want to make sure she's safe... I'm going anyways.
But I'll still worry.
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End of chapter 1 :..
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