Retribution: The Cure for Agony

Chapter 2: Therapy

** Warning: Graphic depictions of violence. **

"Dad, what are you doing?" I yelled, trying to coax an answer out of him. He slowly sat up in the old, worn recliner and muttered something vile. Ignoring whatever he said, I sauntered to the front of the chair to find a liter of Jack Daniels hanging from his hand. I felt such anger swell inside me, but I pushed it down, avoiding its influence.

"Dad, I wish you wouldn't do this," I said without hesitation. I was trying to be an adequate son by shedding light on his iniquitous addiction, but he scoffed at me, wrinkling his nose in contempt.

My fearful eyes searched for any sense of discernment when he attempted to get out of his chair. However, there was never anything impressive about his drunken efforts. The only skill he has ever acquired was drinking every problem away, and you could never ask him to do anything else because it'd be an absolute disaster. Even his inability to stand properly was sad.

"G-go get your sister from school will ya?" he slurred his words together as he staggered past me, standing in front of the dining room threshold. My blood started to boil over at the thought; he has refused to pick her up more times than I can count.

"You mean to tell me that you left her, again?" I raised my voice with vexation. My heart rate steadily increased, making my mouth dry and the surface of my skin flush bright red. I never wanted her to feel like she was neglected or forgotten, yet that was all he ever did. It was all he ever did to me.

The thought churned my stomach as frustration swelled in my throat. My hands clenched into fists, preparing to fight him, but he abruptly swung his arm around and broke my nose with the bottom of the bottle. My legs buckled, and I reached for my face, attempting to hold back the blood. The physical pain was almost nonexistent. The adrenaline. 

Fear held me down as I pulled my hands away. They began to tremble as blood dripped into them and onto the stained gray carpet. "What the fuck!" Disbelief swept over me as I looked up at him. He bent down with little balance and I cringed at the stench of alcohol wafting from his breath.

"Maybe next time you won't talk back to me," he said condescendingly with a smug smile. I looked down at my hands once more before standing to my feet. Most of it was still drying in the crevasses of my palms, sticking like wet glue between my fingers. Seeing it gave me a sense of happiness; it meant that my sister wouldn't have to endure his abuse. I would gladly take every beating if that meant she would be safe, even if it killed me.

"Well?" my father's elevated voice broke through, "Are you going to get her or what?" His scowl made his loathing so transparent I actually feared he might swing at me again.

I smiled weakly and nodded before making a quick getaway to the front door. I grabbed the keys, but didn't even bother washing my hands or face as it would give him another reason to abuse his authority over me. None of this would matter anymore once I took my sister and left his ass behind. Maybe then, just maybe, he would appreciate what he had.

Regardless of the situation, I drove into town and shortly arrived at the elementary school. After parking, I went inside the detention center to find Charlotte impatiently waiting with a teacher. "I didn't know when you were going to pick her up," Mrs. Bates said, checking the time on her phone. "She's the last one—" she paused abruptly after her eyes examined my face. No doubt I wasn't able to wipe off all the blood with my sleeve. Fuck, I was in such a hurry.

"I'm so sorry, this won't happen again," I apologized, reaching out for my sister's hand, but she pulled away. My eyes glanced from Charlotte's hand to her face. There was this expression I had never previously seen—it was something unusual for her personality.