Trigger warning: Child abuse, violence, language, and mentions of alcohol. Ntp. If you’re sensitive to these topics please do not read.

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My bruised and bloodied hand rests on the doorknob to my apartment as I try to judge if my father is asleep or not.

It’s twelve o’clock at night, and I just came back from a shift at the convenience store all the way across the city. A drunken customer had come in and started throwing around glass bottles and razors in a alchohol-induced havoc. Before he could hit a woman with a ceramic plate, I stepped between them and blocked it from hitting her. The jagged edges tore through my skin, and blood poured from my chest and hands. I quickly forced the man to leave and apologized to the trembling woman, but the damage was done. There were no bandaids or sterile gauze in the store, so all I could do was bite my lip to keep from screaming out in pain and pull the shards out of my chest with my bare hands. It was a tiring day and I hoped to be able to get at least an hour of sleep in, but I knew it was worthless to hope. My father would probably make me go out again and buy him alcohol and cigarettes from a shady store who knows where.

_As if any legal store would sell booze to a 14 year old, _I think bitterly, and open the door, my half asleep and exhausted mind not able to care if I got beat up again.

The overwhelming putrid stench of throw up and alchohol greets me, and I almost gag. Covering my nose with my shirt, I step into the hell I call home.

Broken glass litters the floor, half finished bottles of alchohol scattered across a flimsy wooden table. Rats and cockroaches scurry across the floorboards, picking up remains of decaying food.

In the center of it all, my father lies unconscious on a couch, it’s yellowed stuffing open, a pile of vomit and a kaleidoscope of broken glass surrounding him. The run down TV which only has two channels is still on, replaying footage from a flood that happened 10 years ago. With a pang, I realize that it’s the same flood that killed my mother.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met. Not because of her physical beauty, but by the way she treated everyone around her with kindness or compassion, no matter if they were politely talking to her or yelling furiously. She was a surgeon who worked long hours in the night just to see my smiling, joyful face in the morning. When she was alive, my father was a completely different person. He was a professor at a prestigious university, and was caring and protective of me and my mother. I could tell he loved her more than anything in the world from the loving looks that he gave her. Looks that said things like,

_I love you._

_I’ll protect you._

_We’ll always be together._

It was ironic how they all turned out to be lies.

“Luca!” My dad’s drowsy, drunken voice calls out from the couch, breaking me out of the stupor I was in. I widen my eyes and try to control my trembling. He can do anything when he’s drunk. The purple-black bruises on my arms are proof.

“Why the hell are you home so late?” He asks angrily, words slightly slurred together, taking a sip from a half opened bottle of beer on the coffee table.

“There was a drunk customer who trashed the store, so I had to fix it.” I quietly mumble, looking at my feet and pushing my fingernails into the palms of my hands, drawing blood.

_Why am I so scared? _I think furiously at myself. I hated the way he was always drunk and angry, but more than that, I hated the effect he had on me.

“Huh, what the fuck did you just say?” He says furiously, and I keep staring down at my feet, not responding.

Taking deep breathes, I try not to hyperventilate. It feels like the world’s upside down. My head is a jumbled up mess of half finished thoughts and sentences.

Suddenly, I feel a rough hand grab my hair. My father got off the couch, bottle discarded on the floor, and is holding my head.

“You think you’re so fucking special, don’t you?” He says, and I begin to answer when he shivers me against the wall.

It’s peeling paints falls to the floor at the sudden impact of my body, and I bite my lip to stop myself from screaming out in pain. I feel blood poor from my head, but don’t dare whimper out loud. Instead, I look at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Your mother died because of you, you know that?” He suddenly says in a calm tone. It catches me off guard and I feel something tear in my heart. My brain’s shouting goes silent, and everything is quiet except for the drops of blood dripping on the floor, staining the mahogany a bright red.

“Everything would’ve been better if you weren’t born.” He says harshly, and this time I surprise him by furiously nodding in agreement.

“I’m trying to fix it.” I say, and his eyes narrow and he’s back to his past state.

“And how are you going to fix not being born when you’re already fucking alive.” He says with resentment, but all I do is smile at him. It’s a sad, small little thing. Not meant to be conforting, not meant to show happiness. Just a hollow, empty gesture.

“I wonder.” I say, and count to three then push him off of me and run to the kitchen. He falls to the floor, too shocked at what I’d done to follow after me.

When I find what I’m looking for, I grin and run back. I find him where I’d left him, this time with eyes widened in anger.

“You little bitch-“ He begins to say, but stops when I put the sharp, cool edge of the knife to my throat.

“This will fix everything, won’t it.” I say, then push the tip in.

Blood pours down my body in streams, and the first thing I feel is incredible pain. It feels like not being able to breathe, even the smallest breath hurting me past being able to talk.

I sink to the floor and fall face flat, arms hugged tight around my body in a death grip. My father rushes over to me and pulls the knife from my throat with shaking hands.

I’m surprised when I feel salty drops water on my face, then look up through my scrunched eyes.to see my father crying and trembling.

I smile genuinely this time, and raise a hand up to his face. Touching his wet cheek, I whisper out a final sentence.

“I hope this fixes everything.” I say, and everything around me fades to black.