Terrible Things (Boyxboy)

IX. Play Ball

Chapter 9: Play Ball

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An Original Short Story By

TheBirdWhoCannotFly

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[[[[MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING]]]]

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~Adrian's POV~

Dad pulled me into the house and threw me against the wall. My shoulder popped out of place somehow. That was going to be fun fixing. An almost silent groan made it's way out of my mouth. He held a wooden bat in his right hand, twirling it over and around his hand clumsily. I didn't like the looks of that. The next I knew, he was in my face. His breath smelled of alcohol, which scared me and surprised me at the same time. He usually beat me sober. He only ever really drank when he and my mom had an argument. And, let me tell you, he was 10x worse drunk than sober.

"Where the hell were you?" He slurred. What should I tell him? I went for a walk? The truth? No, most likely not the truth. I was at lost for words. What could I tell him so he wouldn't be so mad? "Well?" He yelled, making me flinch. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would give out. I don't really remember being this scared of my dad. Ever. When I didn't answer again, he squared his shoulders. Bringing the bat up to the side, he sliced it throughout the air, slamming it against my arm.

Pain radiated all down my arm and all across my shoulders. I cried out and slid down to the floor, legs sprawled out on the floor. Damn. Why did he have to play softball?

For the next hour and a half, he beat my legs raw with the bat. "Where", hit. "Were", hit. "You", hit. He'd hit almost every inch of my legs. He'd even forced me on my stomach to he could get my shoulders and back. I tried not to cry. He'd even hit me harder if I did so. My mom obviously wasn't home. She'd either be telling him to stop, that it was going too far, or she'd be cheering him on and spitting insults at me.

Eventually, the bat slipped from his grasp right when I didn't think I could take anymore. He passed out on the floor. The bat landed on front of my face where I could see some blood staining the wood and some dents I knew weren't there before. Tears were streaming down my face and quiet little sobs gurgled in the back of my sore throat. Biting down on the edge of my jacket, I popped my arm in place. A little yelp of pain smothered into the fabric. My arms weren't as bad as my legs. After rolling the joints in my arms, I started crawling to the stairs; army style. My legs were useless.

I looked up at the long stairway. Ugh, why did my room have to be on the second floor? It was very difficult, painful, and tiring, but eventually I got up the stairs.

With the door shut, I lifted myself into my bed. Good thing it was close to the ground. Before I could stop them, more tears fell from my eyes. I needed to stop. I shouln't be crying. People have it worse than this. Jamie. Think of Jamie. Poor and broken Jamie. Even then the tears wouldn't stop. I didn't cry for my parents not caring. I cried for the pain I was in. My legs and back were pulsating with waves of excruciating pain. Why don't I fight back? Ever? Am I scared? Yeah, probably.

My phone somehow didn't get broken during the ordeal. It was still sitting safely in my jacket, It started to vibrate, signaling someone was calling me. Jamie. Should I answer? It was likely I sounded pretty exhausted and hoarse. Oh well. I answer and held it up to my ear carefully.

"Hello?" I groaned. It was hard to hide how much my body hurt.

"Adrian? Are you alright?" Jamie sounded instantly worried. Wow, like I said the first day I met him, he's perceptive.