|The Tragic Life of Alexander
Author: AmesNotJames PM
Emotionally and physically abused by his Father, Alex decided to run away with blood on his hands and live on the streets. Until he saved an elegant, wealthy, and high class girl named Athellian from thugs who were trying to rape/rob her. They fell in an unfortunate love. After he killed one of the thugs to save her, the gang are coming after him. Can he risk putting her in danger?Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Tragedy - Chapters: 5 - Words: 5,167 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 01-25-13 - Published: 12-29-12 - id: 3087120
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The frigid sentiment of the walls held my fall as I staggered against it. Racing thoughts chopped through me, as I clamped my eyes shut. Slowly I sank to the floor of my bedroom, with my knees pulled against my chest, I hugged it. The only comfort I had was myself and the wall that seemed to emerged itself with me. I knew it was still there - the sticky, dried-out, red substance stain. It felt cold on my fist in a room the wind did cease to exist. It was a reminder of what had happened. Pounding at me, it did.
Silent hummed. Head screamed. Fist agitated. They were all there.
I couldn't stop the image from replaying itself over and over. There was so much blood. Too much. And I did it. I did that - I did that to him. With my own fist. Why did I? He deserved it. Right? He punched me first - I was just being defensive. Yeah. That's right. But I know I didn't. I know I wanted to beat him - kill him even. But it wasn't Jes I saw at the end of my fist. It was him. My dad. I wanted to kill him.
I couldn't - right? Because he was my dad. Because he was the reason I exist. Because he was the person I use to follow around every day when I was little. I possibly couldn't.
I'm not him. I'm different.
Laughing bitterly to myself, for the pity-party I had constructed in my head, and the mere thought of being just like him, and being such a pathetic bitch.
But. But how could he do it? Punch me over and over, with out mercy. Does he feel guilty afterward like this? Feel horrible and remorseful like me? I'm his child. It would have to be worse than what I'm feeling right?
Unfortunately, I already knew the answer to my own question. I chuckled. How can I be so stupid to even thought for a second that he actually cared about me? I was such a dreamer. A foolish damn dreamer. Always thinking about the impossible and drowning in the river of denial. I hated it. I hated him with a blazing passion. So much I can't even possibly described it enough to expressed what I meant, yet there was a tiny part in me that still chirps the songs we used to sing around the campfire once upon a time.
Then I heard it. The front door rattling, followed by a slam. He was home. Clenching my teeth, I forced my legs to obeyed me and stood up, and I hastily headed toward the bathroom. In there I washed the blood stains off of my fist, I quickly darted out of the bathroom and into my bedroom just in case he walked into the bathroom. It wasn't like he gives two fucks about whether or not I got expelled, however he'd give me hell if I forgot to fill up the fridge with beer.
Crashing down onto my bed, I closed my eyes and waited for the darkness to drift me away from this hell hole like it always does.
At least the darkness haven't disappoint me yet.
"Get up you lazy son of bitch. " The bellowed of my dad voiced shattered the comforting blankness of sleep I craved. He kicked my bed. Gradually, I got out from my contented spot and stood in front of him. His face was flushed red. Drunk as usual. No surprise there. In his hand, it was the home phone.
"You fucking bastard. Some teacher call and said you're expelled, " he screamed. " They want to do a home visit. What the fuck did you do - you dumb piece of shit. "
The price for his words, were those of his fist. The pain knocked me off of my feet, it escalated through my head, as I cringed in pain when he made contact. Palms held onto the floor, taking as much strength as possible to keep myself upright, my knuckle bleach white. Oozing out of my mouth was blood. As it took it wondrous time to drip down on the tiles. It was just another stain amony many I had to clean. Again.
Without warning, his knee smashed into the side of my gut. The very breathe I took to calm down my nerve for the punch was knocked right out of my throat.
"Fucking shit should just die like your mother. "
Then, it happened again. Without a single thought, I grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt and punched him. With all the hatred I had at the world, I forced it all out at him. Afterall, he was the caused of it all.
Stumbling back, and overwhelmed by my sudden boldness, his cold eyes filled with animosity and wrath was aimed at me. He smirked. Even I, was baffled at what I had just done. I was terrified what was to come next.
" I'm..I'm sorry! Please! " I begged desperately. " I-I was wrong..Dad.. No..Please.." Inching behind me, until I felt the cold touch of the wall. I frozed in place.
"You fucking dare touch me you piece of shit? I see. You have guts. But you know what having guts get you? "
I know. You made sure of it.
Rain of kicks, and punches fell like rain. Grounding my teeth, I took the torment and affliction in silent balled up. I cursed the day I was born. Maybe he was right. I should be dead. There wass really no point in living if I were to be subjected through this torture. Nobody deserved that. Losing track of how much damaged my dad dished out as I tried to focused on anything else. Sweat mixed with the blood pouring from my nose and lip and cuts I didn't even know where made them burn all the worse. Still he continued on.
"I hope you don't forget this lesson, son. " I frowned through the haze of pain as his word choice. My breathing ragged. Peeking out from the corner of my eye, in his hand was a glass cup. I cursed under my breathe for being stupid enough to leave it out in the open.
I closed my eyes. Praying to God to let it be the last time.
The glass came down. Hard. Expecting it to be the last of me. It wasn't. Laying there on the floor, I chuckled to myself softly. How many times have I been in this position? I might as well live on the floor. Slowly opening my eye lid. Pieces of glass was lying around me. A litte of pool of blood already made a stream running down my face.
"What are you laughing at? "
I smiled at him. "Tell me, Dad, " My voice whispered loud enough for him to hear. " Is it because I look like your dear deceased wife that you hate me so much? Or the fact that you knew the death of her was your fault, forcing her to leave you with your child to look after. So now, you regret killing her? "
With the heel of his foot, he kicked me in my nose. It already hurt and bled too much for me to care.
"Shut up. Are you fucking high? Fucking crazy bastard. " He turned around slowly, probably exhausted after beating me for so long.
My heart was racing. Before I knew what possessed me to do so, I grabbed the piece of glass in my hand. I held the wall for support and staggered up, ignoring the ache and slicing pain in my body altogether, twitching the glass toward me, I bore my eyes on it.
I lifted the glass.
One slash... one cut... Peace.