Sunday morning, I can't breathe. I'm physically drawing in the breaths and I know it's reaching my lungs but it hurts. Every drag of oxygen I suck in feels like it's going to be the last one my bruised ribs will be able to pull in. I don't know how I'm going to get up tomorrow morning.

Dad's still not home but it doesn't matter. I'm not leaving the bed today. I can't. It's physically impossible. If I take one step, I'll splinter or crack and every jagged piece of myself will spill onto the floor, waiting for someone to take a look at and realize how pathetic I am. That's not an option. I can't break because of him.

I manage to weakly sit up and grab my laptop from the edge of my desk, but that knocks the wind out of me and I have to sit with my fists clenched trying to hold onto some shred of strength to keep from crying. Pain is nothing new for me but it doesn't get any easier to deal with.

Each breath feels like jagged knives pressing their blades into my ribcage and I have to carefully ease myself back against the headboard before I'm able to open my computer. It's still stuck on a blank page where I was working on the paper last night. I still have no idea what to put down. What did I do this summer that was significant? Or did Lancer say important? Fuck, I don't remember.

I think I manage about two hundred words before I realize that if I'm going to get food, it has to be while dad's gone. If he's here when I venture outside of my bedroom, I won't survive if he decides today's the time for round two.

Despite not wanting to move an inch, it's actually not as painful as I thought it'd be. It still makes my breaths come in short gasps and it takes me a hell of a lot longer to cross my bedroom floor than I'd like it to. If dad comes home and I'm in the kitchen, I think I'll crawl into one of the cabinets and hide until he's gone. There's no way I can go running up the stairs like this.

I hesitate on the landing after creaking my door open, making sure I didn't miss the sound of dad coming home. It's not something I've been able to sleep through for years but there's always the off chance. Thankfully it's still silent in the house and I start out of my bedroom, each step a little faster than the one before it.

The stairs aren't as painful as they were last night and I'm guessing it's cause I'm going down instead of up. Which is going to make the trip back to my room fun.

Once I'm in the kitchen, I secure two cans for myself – a Dr. Pepper to drink with whatever I find to eat and a Budweiser for when night hits and I need to sleep. Took me forever to fall asleep last night cause every position caused my ribs to ache. My eyes land on the medicine cabinet over the sink and I put the beer back. Pain killers are probably going to be better for this.

After I search through the cabinet, I find the drugs I was prescribed in the spring when I tore a muscle in my calf. It was like an out of body experience following that hospital visit. Mom was already gone so I figured I only had me to depend on. But dad was like a fucking saint while I was recovering. He brought me whatever I wanted to eat and drove me to and from school. He was at every one of my physical therapy appointments and even told me not to push myself when I was doing shit around the house. He was home every night at the same time and even made dinner more often.

That's why this is hard. How can you hate someone that you know still loves you? If they'd just put the bottle down, it'd be okay. Everything could go back to the carefree time when I was injured or when I was little. When I actually felt like dad gave a shit about me. It's too easy to blame this on him. I'm at fault too. If I just didn't do the kind of shit that pisses him off, he wouldn't have a reason to lash out. If I wasn't such a colossal fuck up, he'd cut back on the alcohol.

The fridge is bare like I guessed last night and the pantry is in the same state. There's a box of macaroni I was supposed to make the night mom left. Dad came home with a pizza and mom and I were just relieved it wasn't alcohol. I wonder how different that night would have turned out if he hadn't come home at all. If he'd been the one that left.

My fingers curl around the shelf I'm searching and I force myself to draw in a deep breath despite the pain it brings. Maybe I need to feel the angry marks my father left on me. Maybe it's what keeps me grounded in reality. There's no point in playing the what if game so I force myself to stay focused. Food. I'm down here to find something to eat.

I search the entire pantry, save for the last shelf cause bending down is not in the cards for me right now, and come up with an outdated mini bag of barbecue chips and a package of hostess cupcakes. It's better than nothing so I take it and my can of Dr. Pepper upstairs, shoving the bottle of pills into my back pocket.

The climb up the stairs is just as painful as I predicted it would be but I don't give myself the chance to think about it. I force my legs to keep going without giving myself a chance to rest between steps. That's probably worse for my injuries but I don't let my mind go there. I just focus on getting into my bedroom and closing the door behind me.

As soon as I'm able to, I lean back against my door, the bottle of pain killers digging into my ass. My phone's vibrating on my bed and I start for it, groaning as I drop my stuff down onto my desk. It takes me a couple of extra minutes to settle down after grabbing my computer to open my can of soda before I'm able to read over the text.

From: Valerie

I brought Patricia in today but you're not here! :(

For the first time today, her text brings a smile to my face and my thumbs are instantly flying across my screen. Of course she'd bring her car in on a day I'm not working.

To: Valerie

Buuuummer. I can't work every day, y'know

To: Valerie

What's wrong with her?

I wait until the message sends before I click the screen off and drop it onto my desk. I open my chips before easing the lid of my computer open, staring at the blinking cursor for another couple of minutes before I move to type anything.

This paper's not going to be anything grand but hey, at least I'm handing something in. If it were up to me, I wouldn't be doing this shit. But considering my grades were barely high enough to be eligible for sports last semester, I really need to do as much as I can. Besides, papers aren't typically hard for me. This is just a shitty topic.

My fingers ease their way across the keyboard and I get lost in what I'm writing. I start talking about donating my time down at the hospital, which was really me bringing in food for Alex's mom cause she was working the late shift a lot this past summer. I don't typically gravitate toward the parents of friends but she's different.

When all that shit happened in junior year, Alex's mom – Tatiana – was there for me. She helped me with homework I was too fucking thick to grasp and I was always welcome at their place for dinner. Not that I came more than once. I'm not great at being a guest and she has enough to handle without me butting in. I needed her and her family once but beyond the garage, I haven't let myself need them again.

From: Valerie

Dunno. Someone's looking at it now. I can't chat with them like I can with you so I'm BORED

From: Valerie

What are you doing?

I scroll my thumb down her messages before returning my gaze to my computer, tapping out another few paragraphs talking about Tatiana and Alex and how good they were to me since I met them. I'll probably delete most of it before I call it finished but for now, I leave it, returning to my phone as soon as I run out of things to say.

To: Valerie

I'm working on the paper Lancer assigned. 2 fucking pages first thing, you believe that?

My fingers return to typing out stuff about the Moreno family and I distantly hear my phone vibrate almost immediately. But my blood runs cold with the sound that follows because it sounds suspiciously like keys in the door. It is. Like I could mistake that for anything else.

I push my chair away from my desk, swiveling around to keep a watch on my door. If he's coming up here, I don't want it to be a surprise. Not that I can do anything in the few minutes it would take him to climb the stairs but still. I clench my fists in an attempt to keep them steady.

My door stays shut but I can hear him moving around in the kitchen, putting stuff away. Maybe he really did go to the store today. If that's true, at least I won't have to skip dinner tonight. I'll just wait until he's gone to bed and dig through whatever he brought home.

When the stairs creak, I let out a breath, bringing my clenched fists to rest on my lap and willing them to stop. They're shaking already and it's pathetic. I minimize my document and grab my phone from my desk, hoping it'll disguise the shakiness. If dad gets a look at the fact that I'm fucking terrified again, it'll only make things worse.

A gentle knock sounds on my door and I try to keep my voice even when I call out. "Come in."

Dad opens my door a little, just far enough to poke his head in, and gives me a smile. "Hey," he says, like last night didn't happen. He eases the door open a little wider, nodding toward my computer. "Whatcha working on?"

I don't turn around to look at it. I know I minimized my document and I'm not making the mistake of taking my eyes off him again. "Paper," I respond, forcing myself to pretend what he already is. Last night didn't happen. If I think about it, I'll question what the fuck he's doing up here. But if I don't let myself remember, I can pretend this is just a normal conversation between a father and his son.

"Yeah?" dad asks, stepping into my bedroom. I notice a paper bag clutched in his hand and my stomach drops. What the fuck is he holding? "What's the topic?"

I realize my eyes have left his face and I quickly snap my gaze back up to his. "Uh… y'know, just what I did this summer. Typical back to school assignment." My hands aren't obviously shaking anymore and I think it's because of the death grip I have around my phone. Just ignore it. Push it down, Dash.

Dad nods, his eyes sweeping my bedroom before they drop to the bag at his side. He holds it out toward me with a smile. "I brought you a burger. You need to keep your strength up if you're going to ace the tryouts like you always do."

I swallow, nodding because my mouth is too numb to speak. He takes another step further, holding out the bag and I realize I'm supposed to take it. I get up from my chair slowly, like a cornered animal, and switch my phone to one hand, reaching for the bag with the other. He lets me take it and I quickly retreat back to my chair, trying to keep my gaze on his so he'll keep his on mine and won't glance down to see my trembling fingers.

"Thanks," I mumble. If this is his way of apologizing, it's not the worst. He used to bring mom roses or chocolates but he never did anything for me. I know how to deal with angry, drunk dad. And I know how to talk to happy, proud-of-my-quarterback-son dad. But I don't think I've ever had to interact with apologetic, sorry-I-smashed-your-ribs-in dad.

He nods, gesturing toward my computer again. "Well, I'll let you get back to your paper. I'm working the late shift tonight so… you'll probably be asleep before I get home."

"I-I'll leave a light on for you," I say without thinking. Maybe I am thinking. Maybe if he's apologizing to me, the least I can do is accept the apology and without words, let him know that I won't be such a fuck up again. Or maybe I will be. But I'll try not to be. The least I can do is try.

Dad smiles wider, the sight a little foreign as it stretches across his face, even reaching his eyes for a few seconds. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that, Dash," he says softly, taking a step backward out of my room. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Good luck at tryouts tomorrow."

"Thanks," I say, my voice almost gone now. I can't remember the last time we carried on a conversation that was as hopeful as this one is. I almost don't want it to end. But if he stays here any longer, I'm bound to say something stupid and make him hate me again.

He closes my door behind him and I wait until I hear him start down the stairs before I breathe again. The fear I'd pushed away rises up now and I can't stop my hands from shaking. I set the bag down on the edge of my desk, afraid I'm going to drop it, and take a few minutes to focus on my breathing. If I can just calm the fuck down, I can realize how good this conversation was. It was filled with so much promise that things might be better. If I can just hold myself together and not break, I could see that.


Dad leaves just past four and as soon as he's gone, I lock the door behind him, turning the porch light on. When the rumbling of his leaving engine dies down, I let out a breath, looking around. I have the house to myself again. I prefer it when it's empty because then I'm not aware of everything I'm doing. If I want to leave my room, I don't have to stand with my ear pressed against the wood to hear if he's in the living room or not.

The paper flies by and after I've written everything I can remember about the days I spent with Alex, where I knew he was only letting me work to keep me distracted, and how Tatiana made amazing food for me to take to school, I ball up the wrapper the burger came in and drop it down into the paper bag. Tatiana would be the best cook I've ever met but she lives so far away that Kwan's mom beats her out. Convenience is high on my rating list.

After I'm done with my paper and I bullshit my answers in Algebra II, I don't know what else I want to do. Normally on a day like this, I'd fuck whatever Alex said and show up for work anyway. But the odds of him letting me work on anything with my face like this and my movements still so jerky are pretty slim.

So I'm left by myself, too nervous to invite anyone over in case dad comes back early or in case they get a look at my face and ask what happened. I'm not really in the mood to explain it all. And the only two friends of mine in the know are Kwan and Valerie. I'm not bothering either one of them today.

I eat what I can of the expired chips but following the fucking amazing burger dad brought me, they pale in comparison. So I ditch the remainder into the bag the burger came in and rip open the package of hostess cupcakes with my teeth. The fudge icing sticks to my fingers as I eat them and I spend more time licking the icing off than I do typing anything on my computer.

Boredom quickly sets in and I put on Supernatural again, groaning at all the appropriate parts of the series and spending more time watching the Impala than I do paying attention to the plot lines of each episode. Thanks to my many hours of rewatching, I'm still able to follow along and I get lost in the story of these two brothers. By the time I realize how late it is, the front door is opening downstairs.

Panic splits through me for a second but I breathe, forcing it down. Dad wasn't angry when he left and he was at work. The odds of him stopping at the bar on his way home are pretty slim. Still, when I hear the television click on, I quietly shut my computer and crawl into bed, hoping he doesn't come up here to check on me.

Everything still hurts and it's hard to breathe but this is better. The nights I go to bed without the weight of wondering how to approach dad after an incident like this are good nights. They're not weighed down with questions and self-hatred. A thousand possibilities of what I did wrong don't run through my head and the sound of the television is just loud enough to lull me to sleep, allowing me to forget about all the stuff I can't during my waking hours.


A/N: Ahhh, poor Dash. I feel bad for him on so many levels. He clearly doesn't deserve what I do to him and yet... yeah, no, I'm not stopping. So, here we see Mr. Baxter in a slightly better light as he tries to apologize and ease the tension between the two of them. As Dash said, he did the same thing with his mother when she lived with them as well and while it worked, it's not a solution. Because it's only a matter of a time before the abuse happens again.

For those of you that don't know, an abuser will often times go through a honeymoon phase where they will feel and act ashamed of their actions and there's a 'good' period between the abuser and the victim. This leads the victim to believe that leaving the abuser is not necessary. It's slightly different in terms of parental abuse versus a romantic relationship, but the idea is the same. Abusers will feel ashamed and ask for forgiveness, swear it won't happen again etc.

Anyway, now that that's over with, I hope you guys enjoyed this latest chapter. There's a bit of hope to it, yeah? ..Probably not. Let me know what you think in a review or PM! Your feedback is really helpful and motivating.