Eli couldn't stand leaving, but having to stay would hurt worse. Chicago had been his safe place. Living in their homey little apartment with mom and his little sister jane was the best his life could be. It all was great until some random asshole decided he was "sober enough" to drive. Until he swerved into my happy little family, taking their lives and mangling my leg. The legal stuff from juat a few weeks after was a complete blur. All he could do is recall that datk cold night, that tire screech, that excruciating pain, glistening red and shaky last breaths of the ones he loved. Mourning the times before, his mom listening to his boy troubles and jane begging him to play house. And his extinguished will to live, in the future and the present that hadent given him even a little space to breathe since waking up alone in the hospital. He only seemed to wake up from his sad dreamish state when opening the door to his dads new jersey home. The only memorys of his dad where from his early childhood. Almost nine years ago when he would've been 5 or 6, he would hide in his room every night. Never leave the room past 10, never unlock the door for anyone accept mom. Hold baby jane if she cried, the extra bottles where in the closet. That was the routine, and every nigh without fail... Dad would get home. It started quiet, jingling keys, heavy foot steps, stern voice that slured every next word. Then it was loud, unbearable to hear. Slaps and yelling and accusations, things falling bumping into walls and sometimes glass would break. After his storm it got quiet. Quiet enough to here mom, she quietly sobbed for hours until she was sure dad wouldn't get back up. Then eventually her quiet stepps would arive at the door. "Open up baby" she would whisper. Then she held me and jane and wiped my tears and promised everything was ok. When dad was gone things were happy and mom would smile and laugh, i could almost even forget that dad had ever existed. Now my anger at life was unbearable. My dad hated the fact i still existed and he made it known. To him a was a parasite that infested his home and stole his money, it was my fault i needed to eat and have a place to live i guess. Thats why he never was really home, i assumed he spent his night at the bar then went home with a different girl, or stayed at a friends place until he needed to get something from my home. On the rare occasion he was home he was awful. I learned that yelling back was not the best idea it was better to listen to the bullshit he said. I learned my lesson after a brisk right hook to the jaw anda push kick to the stomach.