Chapter 9: I Know a Thing or Two about a Thing or Two

I did as I was told and unwillingly walked back down the stairs. When I entered the room my dad was standing besides the bookshelf wearing a black, round neck t-shirt and black denims to match. His arms were crossed over his chest as an empty bottle of Jack Daniels hung from his hand; a full bottle sat on the coffee table in front of me, just waiting to be opened. All I did was stand nervously at the entrance of the room awaiting the confrontation with my father.

"Where've you been, Jacky boy?" He asked slowly, with a slight slur in his words.

"I went out with a friend," I admitted simply.

He nodded his head with both eyebrows raised and his lips pursing as he uncrossed his arms and reached up for the jar of money. Fuck, he had found out. I knew I wouldn't be able to get away with it and now I could only face the consequences. "So...you decided to take some of my money from this jar."

"I'll-" before I could finish my sentence, it took me awhile to register the glass bottle flying towards me. I swerved to dodge the object and watched it shatter against the wall, shards big and small falling to the ground.

"Look, I know a thing or two about a thing or two and I know for a fact that you stole my money. Don't even think about trying to lie to me!" He yelled as he began to make his way over to me with long, heavy strides. Unwittingly, my feet began to shuffle back attempting to get away from him. But it was no use. He already clasped the nape of my neck in a choke hold and slammed me against the wall where the bottle had previously smashed. There was no use fighting back because I knew I was way too weak. Its one thing to take on similar aged lads from my school, but my dad was a whole new story. He was pretty burly anyway and his blind fury combined with the amount of alcohol running through his system seemed to give him superhuman strength. Fighting him would only be a fool's errand. "That money is for me, you little bastard. What made you think you could get away with it, huh?"

"It's not your money! I worked for it!" I exclaimed not being able to hold it back. It ended up with me sprawling across the floor after his stone-like fist collided with my jaw. I landed in the broken shards of glass, making the landing more painful than it should have been. That combined with the previous injuries done in the carnival. My teeth clenched together in pain as I hissed, but before I could even regain my composure my father was already attacking me relentlessly with kicks and punches. I tried to reason with him through the attacks, "I'll give you the money back, I swear. Just get off me," I groaned in agony. A moment later he backed away from me, breathing heavily after giving me painstaking beating. He glared down at me, still clearly furious. As fast I could I reached into my jean pockets and pulled out what was left of the money. It was still over half of what I went out with. Viciously he snatched the money away from my hand and sent another swift kick in my ribs making me emit a grunt. As I rolled around in pain on the floor, desperately clutching my sides for some sort of soothing, my dad grasped the full Jack Daniels bottle and started towards the front door.

Even when I was sure he was definitely gone, I still couldn't bring myself to get up. The overwhelming pain was just too much. My bare arms stung from all the tiny glass shards piercing my skin, my torso ached from the punches and kicks to my stomach and my whole body in general just felt weak and dizzy. Shakily, I pushed myself up from off the floor and realised that I still had Madison's numbers written on my bloody arm. Gently I snatched the phone from off the hook and made my way up to my bedroom with it. The journey was a little longer now that I had been attacked profusely. Attempting to lie down on my bed was the worst part of all. I couldn't do it without making contact with one of the injuries on my body. Once I was sure I had found a relatively comfortable position, I began dialling Madison's cell number.

It only took two rings before Madison answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, Madison. It's Jack."

"Oh my god, Jack! I was so worried. I didn't think you were going to call and then I thought maybe something had happened to you. I'm so glad you've called, finally."

I sighed knowing that something had happened; just not what she had expected it to be. I wasn't going to admit to her what it was. "Well, I just wanted you to know that I'm...fine. You can stop worrying." I rolled over for a second, oblivious to my injuries for a moment and groaned loudly.

"What's wrong with you?" Madison asked after my strange bodily function.

"Um...nothing. Why are you whispering?" I asked, slightly confused.

"My parents are in bed so I need to be quiet. Speaking of which, I'm supposed to be asleep too. I should be going now and I'm going to leave you be. I'll see you tomorrow, Jack. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Madison," I mumbled tiredly. When I heard the other end of the phone go dead, I placed the phone on my bedside table. I stripped out of my clothes before crawling back into my bed, which proved to be extremely difficult. Every toss and turn was complete torture and I debated whether or not I should take some painkillers, but figured I was just too exhausted to do it. After a lot of struggling, I realised that I was just going to have to put up with the burden of pain and eventually fall asleep no matter how uncomfortable I am.

Every sound that came from inside the house made me flinch, thinking that maybe my dad had come back for another round, but I realised I was just being paranoid. Nevertheless, I fell asleep feeling anything but at ease. The events were completely traumatising and I wish that I could show my dad how much his abusive ways could affect and mentally scar me for the rest of my life. That's not to say that he could possibly know how much this was scarring me and was just an evil, alcoholic fiend who enjoyed watching his seventeen year old son suffer because of him. It's always a possibility. Does he feel good about himself knowing that his son spends most of his nights fearing that his father may come in intoxicated and vicious, knowing that he was ready to start another fight with him? I hope he realised that because of him I couldn't spend a day worrying about what may happen if I was to do certain stuff that may involve my father. It hurt to know that what was supposed to be one of the most loving and nurturing figures for a son was completely destroying that dependence by torturing him and making him live a life of fear as I lay in my dirty bed sheets now being stained with drying blood.