Second Chances

Chapter 13: Who I Am

Hello, hello, hello! This is me being me and finally publishing another chapter. This one is tense from the very beginning, but I promise you'll like the outcome. I'm so sorry for the infrequent, and honestly very rare updates. Schoolwork, you know? I'm planning on working on a oneshot, which I'll probably post before Chapter 14. That one is one to look forward to as well, for my angst lovers. Let's have some fun!

Warnings: Mature language (a lot more than usual), violence, & kinda sorta homophobic slurs (not really, but you can tell that's what is being said)

Much Love, Krissy

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We Continue...

My mother squeezes my hand once before she lets me go, rising from the chair. She straightens her back, looking poised and put together, as always, and leaves the living room to go to the front door.

"Nathan, welcome home," she says, lacking much emotion yet still managing to sound polite. My father grunts, not offering her any sentiment or greeting.

"Where's the red headed bitch?" he demands. I tighten my grip on John's hand as I watch his other hand clench into a fist. If I don't hold him back, I'm certain he'll go to punch my father. I can't let him. Not now. Not yet.

"Do not refer to our daughter as a bitch, Nathan," my mother says, still sounding incredibly sweet. So sweet that you can tell it's fake. My father scoffs.

"That little whore doesn't mean shit to me. I saw her today, showed up at her stupid graduation. You know what I saw, Charlotte? The bitch was-"
"Nathan, stop calling our daughter those things," my mother grinds out. John stands up abruptly, and I follow him. We both stand at the entrance to the living room, watching the exchange. I keep a firm grasp on John's arm, holding him back as he stares daggers at my father, who chuckles humorlessly.

"And do you know what else? I saw her hanging around that goddamn boy. It's no wonder she's become a whore, hanging out with that fa-"

"Nathan, do not say those words in my house!" my mother snaps. My father turns on her.

"What did you just say to me, woman?" he asks. She glares at him in disgust and hatred. I don't remember the last time I saw my mother look at that man with love in her eyes. I can almost contently say never.

"Did you just backtalk me, you French bitch? Is that any way to talk to your husband?" he snarls. My mother stares him dead in the eyes, unwavering. He takes several steps towards her, and I release John's arm and charge forward myself. As he raises his hand to hit her, I catch his wrist.

"Don't touch my mother, you bastard," I growl, pushing him backwards. He stumbles slightly, before righting himself and glaring at me.

"There you are, you little whore. I saw you with that girl. Was it the same girl that made you a skank all those years ago? You disgusting little skank!" he spits. I glare at him, lips curling in a snarl.

"You say that in every life. In every life, being bisexual means that I'm a whore to you! Well you know what? Fuck you, Nathan! I'd rather be a whore than be your daughter! There's a reason that I fought in a war and overcame traumas while you died young, alone, and pathetic!" I yell, voice rising with every word. His eye twitches.

"Is that any way to talk to the man who gave you life?" he growls, low and threatening. I don't flinch.

"Don't talk as if you wanted me to exist in the first place," I say sharply. He takes a few meaningful steps toward me before my arm is grabbed and I'm yanked backwards. John steps in front of me, standing protectively. My father pauses, before his mouth forms into a sickening look.