Daddy's Love

Chapter Two

It's not easy being me. You might think to yourself, everyone has it hard, but not as hard as I have it. It's not easy listening to your parents argue every single day about useless bullshit. It really wasn't, but you know, I wish I could hear them argue because my mom decided that she had enough and filed for a divorce. My dad, being the rich one, he, of course, took everything they had together.

Even though that was really difficult for both of us, she claims that it was worth it. 'At least I won't have to deal with his abuse.'

It was true – my father was quite abusive. He drinks a lot and well... he sometimes hits both me and my mom. Him being a really respected man, nobody really believed us. I mean, who would believe a man with a company that earns millions of dollars every year is run and belongs to an alcoholic.

Why even drink alcohol anyway? You have so much money; why do you have to keep looking for happiness in the same place broke people do.

He tried to bribe me to be on his side with money, but I knew that it was all merely an act to make my mother look bad in front of people. If I was underage, I'm sure he would have taken custody of me. Luckily, I turned 20 this year, and yeah.

Did I like the fact that he'd hit me and my mom? No. Did I like the fact that he'd scream like insane every time he'd have a glass of wine? No. In front of other people, he looks like the perfect father and husband – I wish that was the case.

Everyone thinks that people with money are really happy and have wonderful lives. In fact, I was bullied for being rich. Everyone was jealous and hated me because they thought that I had it easy, meanwhile, I'd stay in the school library until school closes, then I'd go to the local town library until that one closed as well, just to avoid going home to my family.

My mother isn't very loving either. I've always tried to be the perfect child; I have good grades, I'm a well-known athlete in the school, I'm in good shape, I'm obedient, I work an IT job, despite our money – which is just another excuse to avoid my family – and yet nothing that I do is good enough for her.

She blames me for the abuse of our father, Peter Hammington. My mother, Emilia Hammington, says that I, Mike Hammington, am the sole reason for my father's alcoholism. She says that I was a mistake. Has called me so many awful names under the sun, but at least she doesn't hit me – unlike my father. That's why I chose her over him. I get my own money anyway.

You may be like, 'well if she's so bad, why don't you go live somewhere on your own.'

It's not because I can't live on my own – it's because she can't. If I were to leave her, she'd end up on the streets. She got pregnant before she got married, and her parents kicked her out and disowned her because of that. Peter had to marry her for the sake of his image, as having an abortion would have been catastrophic. Peter didn't have the power he has now to make an abortion just go away like that. That is actually the main reason she hates me now.

Having to bear caring for another child was enough, so I was a lone kid. As I said, the kids at school didn't really like me, which sucked. I always tried to be nice, but it was all to no avail. At least they weren't physical towards me – they were scared of my father.

Now the state my family is in is horrible. I have no idea if this can even be called a family at this point. We've been staying at this new apartment for just over two months. My mom does nothing – all she does is drink and yap about her failed marriage. She has no prior work experience whatsoever, and I highly doubt that she'd survive working a 9-5 job as a cashier or something. I'm pretty sure cashiers are supposed to be nice people. If it wasn't for me, she'd literally die. I'm the one that's paying for everything.

She thinks that might change soon, as despite her obviously not being over my father, she already found someone new to screw around with. Imagine how I felt when I, tired and exhausted from work, came home to female screams from my own apartment. The noises were coming from my mother's bedroom, and when I ran to see if she was alright, I burst into the room - she didn't even bother to lock the door – and there I found her naked with a man I had not seen before.

I literally wanted to puke at that scene. It was as if she was screaming this loud just so I'd be able to hear her, run to her room and witness this. I have to bear the trauma of seeing her naked with that man for the rest of my life.

I closed the door the moment I realized what was going on. I didn't want to know who that was, and I didn't want to know what she was doing – I sadly knew though. It wouldn't have been as bad as if I'd caught her with my own father.

I ran out of my own home straight to the library. I took a book, tried to immerse myself in the fictional world, but it was to no avail. No matter how much I tried to escape reality, my mind kept going back to that scene. That horrible scene in my own home.

My parents had very strict rules. I was to be never late, to never bring a girl over, to never bring a guy over, to never have a grade less than an A, to never disobey them, to never raise my voice at them, to never question them, to never stand up for myself, etc. etc. and now I wonder if I should set up some rules as well – starting with not bringing over any unknown men to my home. Maybe I can add "don't scream at me either."

But nah, I doubt that she'd be able to follow those two rules. In fact, she'd probably become much worse – maybe she'd even make an orgy at my own home. I did not need that mental image. I really did not.

My eyes teared up. This was really messed up. No child should have to witness that. No child should have to listen to its parents argue every day. No child should have to see his mother getting hurt. Huh, fun fact: my dad started to hit me ever since I stood up for her, ever since I tried to defend her, ever since I told her that causing her pain was wrong. And she started to blame me for that.

You know what's funny – you can't even cry at the library. No noise is allowed. At least I was prohibited from embarrassing myself in front of people. At least me and my father agree on that – men don't cry. At least strong men don't.

I have no idea how long I was there, but I had fallen asleep as I was 'reading,' and when I woke up, I looked through the window and noticed that it was nighttime. I turned on my phone to see what time it was, and lo and behold – 7:50, just ten minutes before the library closes. I got up and left, regretting having slept there – I was already suffering from insomnia enough as it was, but now I had something to keep me awake even more.

You know, listening to your parents argue every night while you are hiding under the blankets, pretending to be asleep because if your father catches you crying, he will beat the crap out of you – first, because you were not asleep, and second, because you were crying like a little wimp.

And I know that he wanted me to sleep, but that just made sleeping even more difficult. Due to the nightmares and anxiety I was experiencing, I kept waking up every night, which is why I have eye bags that make me look like a panda right now. Some people say that it's attractive, but I really hate it – if it weren't for my physique, no one would even look at my face.

I know that I'm a grown man now, and that no one can hurt me, but seeing something, even if it reminds me of my childhood in the slightest, my heart starts to pound so hard it can explode. My lungs feel like they are being pressed on by stones. I always avoid violent movies for that exact same reason. I hate violence from the bottom of my heart. I may look tough and strong, and that's because I am, but I'm also really, really broken and hurt inside. It doesn't matter how small or big you are – if you threaten me, I will shatter on the inside. And I hate it. This is my weakness. I've been working out for this exact same reason – to not let anyone be able to hurt me – and even though no one dares approach me because of my figure, I am still always scared.

If my boss yells at me, I break apart on the inside. If an old lady scolds me for "taking her place" while waiting for our order, I break. That lady means nothing to me. She is more than fragile – I can snap her in half if I wanted to – but it doesn't matter. I still give her what she wants. It's better to avoid a conflict than to start an unnecessary one.

Now I need to go home and face my mom. I can go to a nightclub or something, but I'm way too socially awkward and shy for that – so much for being tough.

Ah, let the show begin.