Being Santa's Daughter

Chapter 2

dedicated to Nettle for being an awesome fan!

Chapter 2  (Jett's POV)

        I woke up to see a pair of bright green eyes. I stared at her. I knew it wasn't Mom or Amanda. They both had brown eyes. They were very pretty. I shook myself out of it and sat up. She stood up to her full height, which was pretty tall. "Hi!" she said cheerily. "I'm Holly!" What the hell? She tells me her name? I'm going to call the police on her!

     I swung the bat, but missed. She ducked and sprinted out of the room, surprisingly fast. I jumped out of bed quickly and followed her. I have no idea how she got in, or why she was even here, but I was going to catch her. She was wearing the weirdest clothes I ever saw on someone. All read and white? Who wears that, even near Christmas? Freaks, that's who.

     I ran with her to the stairs. She was leaving a trail of white lights, seeming to come from nowhere. Her feet were silent, unlike mine, that pounded on the hardwood floors. Amanda came out of her room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Jett?" she said. Shit! The freak knows my name now! "Amanda!" I shouted. "There's a burglar!" Dad sprang into action just as she closed the back door behind her. I burst out of the house, but she was nowhere in sight. I sighed, letting the bat go limp in my grasp.

    Dad barreled into me, making me face plant into the cold, white snow. I hissed, pulling myself up. Dad laughed. "Sorry, Jett," he said. "Where's the burglar?" I looked back to the forest, thinking she might've went there. "She's gone," I said quietly. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "A girl?" he said, and laughed. It wasn't a funny, 'ha-ha' laugh, it was more of a making-fun-of laugh. "I think you were having a dream, son."

    The more I thought about it, the more I realized it could be true. I mean, who sees a beautiful girl that pretty, and she's breaking in your house? Not many people, I'll tell you. I nodded slowly. "I guess that could make sense," I said. He slapped me on the back, harder then necessary. "Now go back to sleep, moron," he sneered. I winced.

   Who talks to their children like that? Amanda came sauntering down the steps, yawning sleepily. "Jett, Dad?" she said. "What's happened?" Dad glared at me. "Your brother woke everyone up on account of a hallucination," he said, injecting so much venom, I hung my head. See, I'm the bad boy of the school, but not at home. I'm a wuss at home. Dad makes me feel like crap. He makes me feel so bad that I want to kill myself sometimes.

    But I don't. Because if I did, Mom would have to take care of Amanda and Brad all by herself. And I couldn't do that to her. She deserves much more then an abusive husband. Hell, we deserve better then an abusive father.

    Dad suddenly gripped my hair and pulled my head up. I winced and he gripped tighter. "My son is a wuss," he hissed at my mom, who just came downstairs with Brad, holding his hand. He let me go and I thought that would be it. "This is for waking me up at three in the morning and lying!" he shouted. He grabbed his belt from the coffee table. He had taken it off earlier in the day to whip Mom a couple times.

     He whipped me on my back and sides. I tried to stay quiet, but when it got too bad, I cried out as tears streamed down my face. I wasn't really crying about the pain; I was used to that by now. It was just the fact that my own father would do this to me. Mom was screaming at him; telling him to stop it, to let me go, but he didn't listen.

   Brad turned his face to Mom's nightgown, not wanting to see me getting beat by Dad, and Amanda ran up to her room and slammed the door. When Dad finally finished, they're were blood drops on the floor, a steady stream coming from the open wounds on my back. What I don't get is this: Dad uses the side of the belt with the buckle. I guess to make it hurt more, right?

   I stood up slowly and winced when my back muscles contracted. I wasn't weak, not in the least. I was strong; I went to the gym at least three times a week. It's just that I don't really feel comfortable hitting my Dad. It makes me feel like a delinquent, and I don't like that.

   I shuffled up to my room and laid on my stomach. Mom came in shortly after, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry honey," she said brokenly. I shook my head, hissing when it began to sting. "There wasn't anything you could do without getting beat yourself," I said. She put a cold cloth on my scratches and I grimaced, biting my lip to keep quiet.

   Next, she put Neosporin and bandages. It stung like crazy, but I held my tongue. "Okay, sweets, we're done," she said, giving me a weak smile. I laid on my side and waited for her to leave the room so I could try and go back to sleep. She came to stand by my bed. She kissed my forehead, brushing my dark brown hair back from my ear.

   "Try not to aggravate him that much," she whispered. I sighed. I really thought I saw that girl! I thought I wasn't hallucinating! Mom stood up and walked out of the room. I closed my eyes, intent on getting a few more hours of sleep before morning. I've never seen that girl around here before. Maybe I really was seeing things. But I don't think so. I felt her hand on my forehead, brushing my hair away. It was really soft. I want to feel it again.

   Whoa, whoa! What am I thinking? I'm a player. I can get any girl I want, anywhere, anytime. I don't- can't- have feelings for an imaginary girl. That wouldn't work out. I laughed wryly. A green-eyed girl causing me so much trouble. Who would've thought?

   My door opened slowly. I thought it was Amanda, so I opened my eyes and started moving over to make room for her. She always sleeps with me when someone gets beat by Dad. But it wasn't Amanda. It was Dad.

    "Little Priss just opens his bed to anyone, does he?" Dad sneered, and I winced. Dad got his pocket knife out. I stared at it like it was a gun. Which, in a way, it was. I closed my eyes, getting ready, when he slapped me. My eyes snapped open and I stared at him. "Kill yourself," he whispered. "Kill yourself or I'll kill your mother."

   I got out of bed quickly, ignoring my stinging back. If that's what he wanted, I would do it. I didn't doubt that he would kill Mom. If I didn't kill myself, he would probably kill us all. I took the knife from him, putting it on my wrist. After a few seconds, Dad got impatient when I couldn't do it. "Do it!" he shouted. "Or I'll kill you, too!"

   I made a shallow cut on my wrist and it immediately started pouring blood onto the rug. Dad smirked. "Faster!" he urged. before I could do anymore, the door opened, revealing Amanda. Dad took the knife from me and hid me behind his back. "Yes, Amanda?" he asked. Amanda tried to look behind my back. "Where's Jett?" she asked in a small voice.

   "In the bathroom," he said. Amanda moved into my room a little. "Why do you have a knife?" she asked. "Why does it have blood on it?" Dad moved the knife back into his pocket. "I must've forgot to clean it, honey," he said. She nodded, and ran out of the room. Dad picked me off the floor and slapped me in the face. "You're going to kill yourself," he said. "And it will be the last thing you will ever do."

~.~

depressing... but it gets better, i promise! tell me what you think; if i should continue and whatnot. okay, talk to you in two days. wish me luck on winning my basketball tournament tomorrow!

xxSavannah