The Loner and the Prep (bxb)

Chapter One

The Loner

Chapter One

Watson P.O.V

Smack!

The palm of my fathers hand flittered across my face hard enough for me to collapse to the floor. A dull ache began on the spot and I knew it would be turning red from the pressure of the hit. I wasn't surprised to be hit, I actually had expected it. You'd learn to expect it when it happens nearly every single day. It's an everyday thing for me now.

"You worthless child!" My father yelled, the scent of alcohol fresh in the air, a half-full bottle of Jack-Daniels in his hands. I knew it wasn't his last bottle in the house, and it wouldn't be his last bottle of the day either. Knowing my father, he'd be drunk well into the morning . . . well, that is if he doesn't pass out first.

Honestly, him passing out would be the best thing.

Whack!!!

The feeling of my father's custom-made boots slam into my ribcage, and an instant pain erupted in the area of contact. I shudder at the feeling of intense pain and suffering. I felt the stairs against my back, the cool hard-wood felt good against the scarred skin. This had been going on for years, and still, no one seemed to perceive the marks that were scattered on my body, the bruises that were practically everywhere except my face, which was practically an exact replica of my mothers. Any mark on my face wasn't caused by my father, they were caused by my bullies.

"Your such a failure." My father mutters under his drunken breath before taking another swig of the whiskey, he walked away muttering to himself words I couldn't quite make out. I sigh a breath of solace before picking myself up off the floor. I look around my filthy home. It originally wasn't a bad place to live, but after a while of living in it especially after my mom died, the house soon filled with empty bottles and the constant scent of sex became usual. The upper side of it, I could smell drugs and know them just by the scent, I didn't have to see them to know they're there.

I carefully lifted myself up by gripping onto the stairs and walk, more of a shuffle actually, into the kitchen. It was 5:15 and I had accidentally woke dad by stumbling over a stack of bottles that hadn't been there when I went to bed. I always had to wake up at 5:00 to attempt to avoid dad but 1/2 of the time that fails.

I'd usually make his breakfast and leave it out for him to eat after I left for my academic learning plan but now that my father was awake I'd have to give it to him or I'd be hurt, probably be smacked or even kicked or punched.

I went into the kitchen and began to pull out the necessary things to make my father breakfast. I'd make my father his bacon, eggs, toast, and another bottle of bourbon. This usually took about 10 minutes but I was going to multi-task, cook both bacon and eggs at the same time. With my father awake I needed to move faster to avoid harm.

About two minutes into cooking I heard my father yell at the television. Dear god . . . I really don't watch tv, since well my father was almost always home when I was so tv wasn't an option. I hurriedly cooked food that I would not be eating, I was never hungry, I had a minor case of anorexia and thinking about eating made me self-conscious about the calories make's me sick to my stomach. If I eat anything, I usually vomit it back up. I usually ate an apple if I was really hungry, and even an apple made me self-conscious, 95 calories of fat inside those fruits made me want to give them up as well.

I continue to cook the high-calorie meal for my father and when I finished I put it all on a tray, grabbed my father a fresh beer and inhaled a deep breath before walking into the living room to see my father sitting on the couch, drinking a nearly empty bottle of beer. Dang! My father can drink very fast, that's not good. I walk over to him, attempting to keep my hands from shaking in a slight sense of fear.