Chapter 28

Prom night: Part II

Age Eighteen

I've fantasized about kissing Gabi countless times. I've imagined the taste of her, the sound of her sighs, how her lips would feel against mine.

But when she finally pressed her warm, soft lips to mine, she completely shattered every expectation I had.

It lasted only a few seconds. At first, I was so stunned that I didn't react. But as soon as I realized what was happening, I didn't hesitate. I grabbed her face in my hands and kissed her back, savoring the taste of her for the first time. My chest felt like it was being pried open, the feeling was so intense.

My first ever kiss, and it was with the love of my fucking life.

But it ended as quickly as it started when I realized she was drunk .

She had polished off half the flask I had taken from my dad's cabinet. She was so wasted, she couldn't even keep her eyes open properly. She didn't know what she was doing. She was just consumed by sadness, heartbreak, and embarrassment, drowning herself in alcohol.

It meant nothing to her.

When it meant everything to me.

I don't even think she knew she was kissing me when she was doing it.

It was purely just a reflex.

I love her more than I've ever loved anything, but I also know her. I know that Gabi clings to attention and affection like someone would a security blanket. I watched her do it for years.

For years, she dated these guys who didn't deserve her. I don't even think she liked them all that much. She just craved being wanted, being needed.

If only she had looked up whenever she was in my arms, she would have seen that I could give her everything she ever wanted, and more.

It gutted me to climb out of her window and leave her, but I couldn't stay there, acting like nothing happened. Because I knew, when she woke up in the morning, she would either regret it, or not even remember it happened at all.

And I couldn't do it.

I'd gut myself if I knew it would please her. But in doing so, it would leave me dead. Letting her keep kissing me, and touching me when I knew alcohol was clouding her judgment would have destroyed me in the process.

Though it's hard to remember that when I see my house only a few steps away.

I stop in my tracks, my jaw aching from my teeth grinding together. My stomach immediately sours at the sight, and I blow out a breath.

Fucking hate it here.

I hate everything about this place, and I hate who I become once I get inside.

Running a hand through my hair, I glance back behind my shoulder, at Gabi's house, seeing her light off.

She's still asleep.

Thank fuck.

A dip forms between my brows as I stare back at her house, wondering if I can go back there, and just sleep and pretend like nothing happened tonight.

A pang hits my chest. I can't. I can't act like nothing happened when she wakes up in the morning and looks at me riddled with guilt and regret.

"Fuck." I clench my fists, and keep walking to the fucking hell hole that is my house.

My pulse starts to race when I curl my hand over the door handle and twist it open.

Fuck. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

I swallow down the bile crawling up my throat, and take a step inside the dark house. Quietly closing the front door, I try not to make a sound as I walk through the living room.

The minute the lamp turns on, I freeze, my stomach dropping to my fucking ass.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

I turn my head, spotting my father sat on the brown couch my mom loved so much. Now it's just worn-out, tattered, and marked with spilled alcohol stains.

My eyes immediately shift to the coffee table, where I notice an empty glass and a bourbon bottle lying on its side, empty with the cap off.

My jaw tightens as our eyes meet, and I see his bloodshot gaze staring back at me.

"Are you mute?" he spits out. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I was with Gabi," I reply, calmly. Fuck, I'm tired. I just want to go to bed and crash.

He grunts. "Still hanging around that slut?"

I hate him. I hate him with every fiber of my being. My fists clench beside me, and I force myself to have some self-control. He's drunk, and an asshole, but I can be the better person. I can go to bed, and let him sit here and rot for all I care.

I turn away and head for the stairs, hoping he just lets me go.

But of course, that doesn't happen in this house.

"Where do you think you're going?" he yells, lifting off the couch.

"To sleep."

The house is dark, and moody and so fucking depressing, but his eyes are like fire as they twist into anger. "Get down here right now. I'm not done."

He never is. No matter what I do, he always has a problem with it. It's like he's looking for an argument, and won't let me leave until I give him what he's looking for.

"It's four in the morning. I'm tired."

"You should have thought about that before you crawled back here in the middle of the fucking night." I'm so used to his yelling. I've grown uncomfortably accustomed to it.

When it's quiet, I still hear him shouting. His voice echoes in my head, calling me worthless, saying I've ruined everything.

I hear it constantly.

All the fucking time.

So I drown it out with music, noise, drugs, alcohol, pain—anything to silence him in my mind.

"You think you can steal from me and I'll just let it go?"

I freeze, the weight of his flask heavy in my pocket. "What?"

His hand slams against the stair railing, and I flinch backward. Anger boils through me. I hate that he still scares me. I don't want to be scared of him. I just want to go to bed and sleep. I just want one day in this house when I don't feel scared .

"You heard me. You're a fucking little thief."

My heart bangs against my chest, my heart lodged in my throat. "I just want to go to bed."

"I don't give a fuck," he says, his lip curling as he grips me by the elbow. "You weren't too tired to do whatever the fuck it was you were doing with that slut."

I don't think before I shove him off me, swinging around to face him. "Don't you dare call her that again."

I tried. I really fucking tried to be calm, but I can't. I can't handle it when he talks about Gabi like that. When any of them do.

When she told me her date called her a slut tonight, my body went red fucking hot, and I just wanted to storm in there and punch his stupid face.

My father's face lights up, his lips curving as he scoffs out a laugh. He's enjoying this. This is what he wants. He wants me to fight back. "Or what?" he says. "What are you going to do?"

"Christopher?" My mother's voice freezes me in place. I look up to see her frail form at the top of the staircase, clutching her robe tightly around her. Her eyes widen in terror as she takes in the sight of my father gripping my collar. "What's going on?"

"Go back to bed," he spits out. "This doesn't concern you."

"It's four in the morning," my mom says, her brows furrowing as she looks between us. "Chris. Where have you been, honey?"

"I—"

"Don't fucking talk to him like he's innocent," my father snaps.

My jaw clenches when I see my mom's face tighten and her arms wrapping around her body even tighter. She's just as scared as I am.

"Come to bed," she says in a calm, quiet voice that breaks my heart. She shouldn't have to be afraid to speak in her own house, to her own son.

But my father's grip tightens, pulling me closer to him. "He's not going anywhere." His hand reaches for my pocket. I don't move as he grabs the flask out, snarling when he clutches it in his grip. "You steal from me, come home in the middle of the night, and you think you can just go to bed? "

"Christopher. Just… just let him go," my mother pleads, her voice trembling.

My father's eyes snap up to my mother. "Shut the fuck up or you're next."

My jaw clenches. He's not fucking touching her . "Leave her out of this."

"Don't fucking talk back to me," he growls, tightening his grip on my collar. "You think you can do whatever you want, huh?" His head tilts as he stares at me, challenging.

I remain silent, staring back at his face, hate boiling through me. I've never despised anyone as much as I do him. It kills me that I share his DNA. It kills me that I share his name. And it kills me that my mother chooses to stay with him, despite everything.

He jerks my collar again when I don't reply. "Speak!"

I exhale sharply through my nose. "You clearly don't want to hear what I have to say."

No. What he really wants is to start an argument.

He snarls. "What's that?"

I give him what he's after and open my mouth. "I said, you don't—"

I don't even finish my sentence before his fist connects with my jaw, sending my head spinning to the side, and blood spurting from my mouth.

A gasp escapes from above me. "Christopher!"

I glance up to see my mom, hands over her mouth in shock. The pain in her eyes tears at me. "Mom, please, just go to your room," I urge her, wishing she would stay out of it. Whenever she gets involved, it never ends well.

But she doesn't listen. She races down the stairs, gently lifting my face to examine the blood trickling down my lip. Her touch feels like a world apart from my father's, and I almost want to laugh.

How did these two ever end up together?

Why does she stay with him?

These questions have haunted me day after day, year after year, ever since I was seven years old and my father gave me my first busted lip.

"He's fine," my piece of shit father grunts, tugging me away from my mom. "Get the fuck out of here, and let me discipline him."

Discipline . Like beating the shit out of your kid teaches them how to behave. It just makes me fucking hate him and want out of this house.

"Christopher. Please, don't hurt—ahh!"

I barely have time to react before he shoves her into the wall. My eyes widen in horror as I see my mom crumple to the floor, clutching her arm in pain.

"Mom!" I struggle to break free from his grasp to reach her as he tightens his grip on me. "Let go of me!" I shout, pushing against his chest. "Don't you dare touch her."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

My blood boils, anger rising until I can't take it anymore, and I fucking blow. I swing my fist at his face with all the force I have inside of me, watching as his face swings to the side.

His eyes widen in shock as he turns to me, clutching his chin. "You little shit."

My heart pounds in my chest as he advances, landing a punch squarely on my face.

Fuck.

I cough violently as his fist slams into my stomach this time, knocking me to the floor.

"Christopher," my mother yells. I look up at her, and I think I see tears streaming down her face, but I can't tell. My eyes are blurry, and my ears are ringing, and… fuck .

I should have stayed at Gabi's.

I should have slept there, and held her against me, and smiled in the morning when she eventually looked at me and said she didn't mean to kiss me, that she was drunk and didn't know what she was doing.

I should have gotten my heart broken.

It would have hurt less than this.

"You think you can punch me?" he sneers, delivering a kick to my lower abdomen, right where the scar from his pocket knife hasn't even healed yet. "You think you're tough now?" Another kick follows.

Blood spurts out of my mouth. My ears ring so loud, I can't even hear him.

I hear my mom, though.

Screaming, yelling, crying.

"Go…" I cough out some more blood. Go back upstairs.

Please.

"Hello?" I hear her voice tremble. "I need the police right now. My husband is hurting my son."

"What the—" The kicking halts abruptly, leaving me gasping for air, my ears ringing.

"Mom?" I manage to rasp, struggling to open my eyes.

"Hurry. Please. He's ahhh—"

"What do you think you're doing?" my father yells, knocking the phone from her hand as he grips her arm, and she cries out in pain.

"Mom!" I grunt, fighting to lift myself off the ground, pushing through the pain as I try to stand.

"What the fuck did you do, you stupid cunt?"

"Go, Chris!" she screams, tears streaming down her face as she stares at me. "Leave. Get the hell out of here."

My father whirls around, gripping my elbow tightly. "He's not going anywhere."

I watch in shock as my mom picks up her favorite blue vase and swings it at his head.

His grip on my wrist loosens, and he crumples to the ground, knocked out cold.

"Go," she repeats, holding the broken pieces of the vase in her hand. "Get out of here."

I shake my head, my heart racing. "I'm not leaving you."

Tears well up in her eyes as she shakes her head again. "I'll be okay, Chris. The police are coming. Just go, honey." The distant wail of sirens fills the air, and her expression softens with relief at the sound. "Go."

I purse my lips, stealing a last glance at her. The sirens grow louder and louder. Finally, I turn and race out of the house.

I run and run and run, pushing myself until I reach the road sign indicating the airport two miles away.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my wallet, seeing my passport, card and some cash stuffed inside.

My eyebrows furrow as I see the picture of Gabi and me that we took earlier today in the photobooth at the carnival, tucked away in my wallet.

I run my fingers over the picture. I want to bring her with me. I want to run back, wake her up and take her with me to wherever I decide to go. I can't stay here anymore. I can't take this shit day after day. But I can't do it without her.

My hand falls away from the picture, and I exhale heavily, closing my eyes.

I can't.

She's starting college in a few months. She's already been accepted and found a dance studio nearby. She's pursuing her dreams. She's going to achieve incredible things and be amazing.

I'd only hold her back.

I place my wallet back in my pocket, and wipe my lip, glancing down at the blood on my finger. My chest aches as I look down at the red liquid on my thumb before I wipe it between my fingers.

I grab my phone, seeing it's running out of battery, and I quickly call a cab before it dies.

The next thing I know, I'm at the airport, booking the first flight I see to get the fuck away from here.

London.