Chapter 18

_______________________

I woke up in a blur, disoriented and gasping for air. My eyes flew open as I felt my father’s hand wrapped tightly around my neck, choking the life out of me.

I tried to struggle, but it was no use—my father was way too strong for me.

This guy was six-foot-two, 250 pounds of pure muscle, and he was pissed. Really pissed. Like, he-just-found-out-his-wife-is-cheating-on-him pissed.

And he was looking straight at me with those cold, dead eyes of his, like he was about to rip my fucking head off.

“Wake up, you little piece of shit!” he yelled at me, spittle flying from his lips. “This is how a real man is made!”

Fuck, not again.

My throat felt like it was on fire, my whole body shaking. I looked at him, spitting out the words through clenched teeth, “You’re a psychopath. You think choking me makes me a man? You’re delusional.”

He just laughed, a twisted, ugly sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “We’ll see about that, boy.”

I felt his spit landing on my face as he leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and his eyes wild with some twisted sense of pride.

I heard him muttering to himself, about how I was a disgrace to the family name and how he needed to make me tough.

The more I struggled, the tighter his grip got. My vision started to blur as I felt my air supply diminish.

I tried to scream, but my voice was stuck in my throat like a pile of piss-soaked rags. I could feel the beatings coming—another lesson in being a man, according to my old man’s twisted brains.

My struggles only seemed to amuse him, his grip tightening even further, cutting off my air supply.

“If you cry, I’ll beat your ass even harder,” he spat, his voice shaking with fury.

I clawed at his hand, trying to rip it away from my throat, but the bastard was stronger than me. He hurled me against the wall with a force that rattled my bones and knocked the breath out of my lungs.

“You must learn to take it like a man,” he said between gasps, like he was doing me a favor.

This was his idea of toughening me up? Choking me until I pass out? The motherfucker was delusional if he thought this shit builds character. All it did was turning me into a walking time bomb.

I was stunned, my body crashing into the wall and sliding down it until my back hit the floor.

“You’re nothing but a pathetic, weak little fuck,” he screamed, his words cutting deeper than any blow he could inflict.

I tried to prove myself, to show him that I wasn’t the worthless sack of shit he saw me as. I pushed myself to the limit, trying to excel in everything I did, but it was never enough.

He blamed me for my mother leaving, for everything that had gone wrong in his life, and he made sure to remind me of it every day. He would call me every name in the book, berating me for my perceived weaknesses, for not living up to his expectations. Every fucking insult, every degrading word, reinforced the idea that I was nothing but a worthless failure. I associated vulnerability with that helpless teenage boy I used to be, the one who couldn’t protect himself, who couldn’t stand up to the abuse.

I’d take the punches, the beatings, because they were nothing compared to the damage his words did. The bruises? They’d fade. But the shit he said to me? That stayed. It stuck with me, buried deep, making sure I never forgot how worthless I was in his eyes.

I looked my father straight in the eye, blood dripping from my split lip, bruises forming on my face, and I smirked.

“Is that all you got, old man?” I croaked out, still trying to catch my breath.

Fuck, I couldn’t breathe.

“You little shit,” he growled. “You have no idea what you’re messing with.”

My vision blurred as my father’s hands closed around my throat, squeezing the air out of my lungs. His fingers dug into my flesh, leaving red marks on my skin. I tried to gasp for air like a dying fish, but all that came out was a weak, strangled sound.

“Stop struggling, you goddamn pussy!” he yelled, tightening his grip even more.

My head was spinning, and I could feel the world starting to fade away. But I didn’t give a shit. I had always known that I was a thorn in his side, but I never realized just how much I annoyed him until now.

I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot, knowing that I had gotten under his skin and pushed his buttons.

Somehow, I ripped one hand free and went for his face, clawing like a rabid dog, but the bastard was too damn strong. My nails barely scratched him before he slammed my hand back down, pinning me like the weak piece of shit he always said I was.

His grip tightened. I could feel my throat closing up, like my windpipe was collapsing under the pressure. My lungs were screaming, desperate for air, but it didn’t fucking matter. My whole body started to go limp, arms heavy like dead weight. I couldn’t hear anything except for a faint ringing in my ears.

I was done with this bullshit. He could have his ‘manly’ way of treating me, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

I reveled in the feeling of pissing him off and making him lose his mind. It was the only way I could get back at him for all the times he had hurt me.

And it was worth every fucking second.

Fuck my old man and his twisted ideas of manhood.

It wasn’t the first time, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. But every time he tried to beat me down, I swore one day I’d be out of this goddamn hellhole for good. I’d show him what a real man was, even if it was the last thing I did.

Then my whole world just narrowed down to the searing pain in my throat, until finally—blackness.

“Rogue…”

I heard a faint voice, barely a whisper, taunting me from the depths of the abyss.

A memory, a feeling, a fucking nightmare.

I strained my ears, trying to hear over the sound of my own ragged breathing, but all I could feel was the suffocating grip of my father’s hand around my neck, sending me into a blind panic.

“Rogue, I can’t breathe…”

And then, the fucking pain. It started in my chest, a sharp, stabbing agony that radiated out to my limbs. I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside, like my guts were being ripped out and fed to me in chunks.

I wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but feel the pain.

I snapped my eyes open, the haze fading away, leaving me disoriented and drenched in a cold sweat. The room was shrouded in darkness, and my heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to make sense of my surroundings.

Fuck, where was I?

I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus. My head throbbed with a vengeance like it had been beaten with a crowbar, pulsating with each beat of my heart. I groaned, trying to piece together what the fuck had just happened.

And then, I saw her.

Red looked like she’d seen the fucking Grim Reaper, her body tense and rigid with fear. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight of the red marks around her neck. They were dark and sore, standing out against her pale skin like a neon sign.

I had been choking her in my sleep.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs weak beneath me, and stumbled towards her.

“Red, fuck,” I rasped, my mind still fuzzy from the nightmare. “I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

But the words felt empty, hollow, because actions spoke louder than apologies.

And my actions screamed monster .

I must’ve scared the living shit out of her.

Red flinched away from me, a look of pure fear in her eyes. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed, rubbing her neck.

My heart dropped to my feet.

She scooted away from me as fast as she could, her body pressed against the wall like she was trying to disappear into it. Her eyes were wide with terror, her breathing fast and shallow.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a step back, feeling like the lowest piece of shit on earth.

The realization of what I had done hit me like an enraged bull, slamming into my chest with a force that left me breathless. I never wanted this, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done, and I had turned into the exact thing I hated most. I was no better than my old man.

Just like him. A fucking monster.

Red took a deep breath, her chest heaving like she’d just sprinted a mile. She moved even further away, eyes flicking to the door, like she couldn’t stand to be anywhere near me.

“Say something. Anything,” I pleaded in a tight, restrained voice, my face drawn and tense as I waited for her reply.

But her mind seemed to be a million miles away, a world away, a fucking universe away.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her words quiet and trembling.

“I need to know that you’re okay,” I replied, my eyes raking over her, searching for any signs of damage I might’ve caused. “That I didn’t hurt you too badly.”

I glanced over at her, her body draped in nothing but my t-shirt, and fuck, she looked sexy as hell. The way her body had responded to mine, the way she had trembled in pleasure, it had been fucking incredible.

I could still smell her on me.

But now, that same body trembled for a whole different reason, and it was all on me. I could see the fear in her eyes, the way she was eyeing the door like it was her only escape.

Fuck me. I hated myself for that.

“I am not hurt,” she said, gesturing at the shattered remains on the floor, “because I hit you with the lamp.”

My head was pounding like a drum, and I could feel the warm, sticky liquid trickling down my temple. I looked down and made eye contact with the jagged pieces of the lamp, my mind finally putting it all together—this was where my pain was coming from.

Well, fuck, the lamp took one for the team.

“Rogue, you need help,” Red claimed, as if she were reading from a script. “This isn’t normal.”

I didn’t want to hear it. I was angry and embarrassed. She just looked at me with those pitying eyes, like I was some kind of charity case and I couldn’t stand it.

Oh, hell no, sweetheart. We’re not doing this.

I felt weak. I felt exposed. And I hated it.

I stormed over to the liquor cabinet and yanked open the door, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. I poured myself a full glass, not giving a shit that some of it sloshed over the rim and stained the counter.

“I’m not drunk enough for this shit,” I said, taking a swig.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Red’s voice came from behind me. “When did it start?”

I spun around to face her, my fingers tightening around my glass.

“When did what start? My drinking? Or my not wanting to hear your goddamn nagging?” I spat out.

“I’m just trying to help,” she said softly, reaching out to touch my arm.

I jerked away, not letting her get close. No way in hell was I going to let her see the mess inside of me. Fuck, I couldn’t even look at her.

So, I turned back to the liquor cabinet and poured myself another glass of whiskey and drank it down, feeling the warmth spread through my body like a comforting blanket.

I knew I was being an asshole, but I couldn’t help it. I was angry and confused, and I didn’t know what to do. “I’ve got everything under control,” I scoffed, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

Yeah, right.

Red shook her head. She stood there, watching me, as if waiting for me to crumble. “You’re not fooling anyone, Rogue,” she pleaded, her voice grating on my nerves. “Not even yourself.”

I scoffed, snorting a little chuckle out my nose like some kind of sick bull. The way she said it, like I was some pathetic loser who couldn’t figure things out on his own, had my blood boiling faster than a pissed off rattlesnake.

“Are we in a fucking therapy session?”

Red shot me a glare that would’ve melted steel. “You can’t just drink your problems away,” she said with unnecessary concern like I asked for her goddamn input.

I wasn’t having it, though.

“There are better ways to deal with your shit than getting drunk every night,” she continued, gesturing to my empty glass.

The whiskey was starting to do its job, and I decided to leave it at that.

“And what do you recommend, Doc?” I retaliated, not feeling the need to mince words. “Perhaps pop some more of those Xanax you’ve been tossing back like they’re fucking Skittles? I bet that’s your solution to everything.”

She looked at me for a second, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out a Rubik’s Cube. After a few seconds, though, she seemed to get it and sighed, shaking her head and trying to maintain her high horse.

“You’re an insensitive asshole,” she shot back, like that was a newsflash.

Honestly, I didn’t ask for her fucking opinion.

But every time she looked at me with those big, sad, green eyes of hers, I felt this weird sensation in my chest. It was like my heart was expanding, trying to break free from the cage I’ve built around it.

And it scared the living shit out of me, because I knew what feelings could do.

I didn’t want to feel a damn thing. Feelings were for weak-ass bitches who couldn’t handle their shit. Feelings were what got me beaten to a bloody pulp as a kid, when my old man would just lose it and go all psycho on me.

I learned the hard way that feelings were a sign of weakness. They made you vulnerable, open to attack from anyone who wanted to take advantage of you.

And if I let Red in, if I let her get close, it was over. I would be weak, exposed, and my father will win.

That was a thought that made my stomach feel like it was full of razor blades.

I couldn’t let it happen.

I slammed my glass down on the counter, the shattered glass scattering across the floor like an arcane ritual. This was my fight, and I was going to handle it on my own terms.

“You’re right, Red,” my voice had risen to a shout, the veins in my neck pulsing with frustration. “I’m an asshole, but at least I’m not a hypocrite.”

She flinched, like I’d smacked her across the face. She jabbed a finger at me, her face turning red. But I didn’t give a shit. I had enough problems without dealing with her fucking melodrama about my coping mechanism.

“I’m trying to help you, but you’re too stubborn to see it!”

I swore to myself that I’d never be that pathetic, fearful boy my father had made me out to be. So, I hardened up, became a stone-cold bastard, incapable of feeling anything but hate and anger.

But Red was right there, her green eyes sparkling with whatever the fuck it was she was feeling. And I could see it, sense it, like a beacon in the dead black pit that was my heart.

Not today, demons.

“You’re always trying to save everyone, but you can’t even save yourself,” I spat at her, my voice shaking with anger. “Maybe if you’d get your head out of your ass and stop judging everyone else, you’d see that you’re not the fucking savior of the world.”

Her eyes widened in shock, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. Good. I wanted her to feel even a fraction of what I was going through.

I saw her judgement in every glance. She looked down at my mess, at the shards of glass from the glass I smashed, her lips pinched in a thin line.

“At least I make an effort to be a decent human being and show some empathy. You can’t even do that.”

Shit. She had me there.

“Well, sweetheart, you are not my girlfriend, so keep your empathy and your unsolicited advices to yourself,” I spat the words out, disgust coloring every syllable. “I don’t need your pity, and I sure as hell don’t need your concern.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Red’s eyes welled up with tears. She looked hurt, and for a second, I felt guilty for being such an asshole.

“I’m glad I’m not your girlfriend,” she shouted, making my ears ring, “because you’re a terrible person, and you’d only fuck up someone who truly cares about you.”

Ouch, that stung.

My laughter came out as a growl. Here we were, arguing about who was more fucked up. No way in hell I was letting her get the last word.

“Cheers for that.”

I heard her sigh, but I didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to see that look of disappointment in her eyes. Didn’t want to see how she thought less of me. I just wanted her gone.

Red was caught in my cycle of bullshit—my victim and my savior. I was the loaded gun, and she kept pulling the trigger, hoping for a different outcome. But the chambers were always full, and each shot tore through both of us, leaving nothing but scarred flesh and shattered dreams.

That’s when I knew we were done. The argument had gone somewhere we couldn’t come back from. It was for the best. I was too broken for her, too far gone to be saved.

I didn’t even hear her leave. Didn’t realize she was gone until the front door slammed shut behind her.

And there I was, alone with the wreckage I’d created—just the way I liked it.

My heart ached, but only for a moment before the darkness swallowed it whole. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter and poured it straight into my mouth, stepping barefoot over the broken glass like it wasn’t even there. The fiery liquid scorched its way down my throat, welcoming the sting of the cigarette I lit next.

It tasted like poison, but fuck, that’s exactly what I needed.

“To the only thing that understands me,” I muttered darkly, taking a long, deep gulp.

Red was gone, and the whiskey was here to stay. She was right about one thing, though: booze wasn’t solving shit. But it sure as hell helped me forget for a little while.

As the world started to spin, I couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly everything aligned. The alcohol, the rage, the silence—it was almost fucking poetic.