Change

13 ~ Injury

Oliver's POV

I walked through the door only to be greeted by the horrific stench of beer. All of the lights were off except for a lamp that rested behind the silhouette of a man in a chair. He had a newspaper in front of him, with a beer in his left hand. Empty bottles littered the floor and grew more dense the closer they were to the chair.

I didn't know if he had seen me or not, so I thought about trying to slip away into my bedroom. But that thought dissipated when he lowered the paper from his face. He looked at me with his messy and unshaven face and his bald head. I couldn't see them, but I knew his eyes were full of rage.

The blinds were closed with large black-out curtains draped over them. Only a sliver of the remaining evening sun could slip through the cracks. My mouth and throat felt dry. I bit the inside of my lip anxiously.

"Hi Dad," I whispered into the stale air. My dad scrunched the newspaper in his hands and tore it apart. He shook his head in disappointment.

And before I knew it, glass shattered on my arm. A foul smelling liquid dripped down my side. I felt a sting on my forearm, but I wasn't sure if I got cut or not. It's not like it mattered in the moment, though. My main objective was to survive the wrath of my father.

"I'm sorry," I said in a meek and sheepish voice.

"I don't wanna hear any of that shit!" My dad yelled. "Where the hell were you?! And why were you gone for 3 fucking days?!" His voice echoed and boomed throughout the house.

The air clung to my skin, causing beads of sweat to roll down my face. I could feel bile rise in my throat. My anxiety spiked and my vision went foggy.

"I-... I had to stay with a friend to help them with a school project..," I lied. I wish I could say that I felt shame while lying to my father, but I didn't. At this point, it was a survival tactic.

"Come here," my dad demanded, his voice ruff. I tried to run to my bedroom, but to no avail. He grabbed me by the arm and slapped me.

"Dad!-," I started sobbing, "Stop please! I'm sorry... I'm sorry!" Tears were flowing down my face while he hit me more and more.

I could feel the darkness envelop me. My head was pounding and my body was sore. Then I passed out.

When I awoke, I was sitting with my back up to the untidy bookshelf in the living room. My father was asleep in his chair. His snores echoed throughout the cluttered house. I got up and made my way to the bathroom to clean up.

I silently closed and locked the door. My dad was a heavy sleeper, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I flicked the light switch and was greeted by a pathetic sight. My face was bruised and marked. There was a deep cut on my arm from the glass. The blood was mostly dry at this point.

I reached into my pocket. A sigh of relief flew from my lips after I could feel my phone was still there. My dad didn't know that I had a phone, and I'd like to keep it that way. I opened the medicine cabinet next to the sink and pulled out some medical goss, rubbing alcohol and paper towels.

I wish I could say that cleaning the injury was the worst part. But I've been used to the pain for a long time now. No, the worst part is the mental part. I had been injured like that many times before by my father.

When I ran away, he came at me with a knife, and stabbed me five times. Obviously, it wasn't deadly, but the fear was enough to keep me with him.

As I finished wrapping my arm up with the goss, I saw tears drip onto my skin. My mouth went dry and I started to sob. Choking down the sound so that I wouldn't wake my father.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. "Stop crying," I whispered. "Stop crying!" I whispered louder this time. My eyes darted over to my razor. The blade glimmered in the dull lighting.

I grabbed it and ripped the blade out, frustration coursing through my veins. The metal was cold against my fingers. I rolled up my sleeve and hovered the blade above my forearm. Tears kept falling and my body began to shake.

I was about to make the first cut, but something stopped me.

'Dylan.'

I can't do this. I don't know what I would do if he saw me like this.

"I love you, Oliver," his voice echoed in my mind.

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

I put the blade in the cabinet. Though I didn't want to harm myself now, I might need it later. Flipping the light switch off, I left the bathroom and crept into my bedroom.

I laid down and pulled out my phone. The screen beamed brightly and caused my pitch black room to have a soft glow. There was only one thing that I wanted to do right then.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

"Hello?" I spoke softly with a hoarse voice.

"Hey Oliver," the voice on the other line spoke. "Are you okay?"

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A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. I've been pretty busy recently. Stay safe ily <3