It’s currently the year 1999, almost through the year.. finally.

You and your father never got along well. Your father never had a solid reason to resent you either, he just developed it more and more the longer you lived and grew up. However, he only really started becoming violent the past four years. Started with accidental slaps, then lead to planned out punishments like punches or humiliation, then so far has extended to beatings with belts or bats even, if you’re unlucky he’ll do other.. weird, to say, stuff to you. It’s obviously not pleasant for you, yet your father almost enjoys it and finds any excuse to. Especially when he’s drinking.

Today, you skipped school like usual and went to football practice (something your dad forces you to do). You always try to watch the time since your dad gives you a strict 11:00 p.m. curfew. As soon as practice was over, you left with a few of your friends and headed out to the arcade and the skating rink and ended it off at your friends place to just chill and play games. You were laughing until you absentmindedly looked out the window to see how dark it was outside. You suddenly checked the time.. Shit. It was 1:00 a.m. You say some quick goodbyes to all your friends before bolting back home. Since you all lived in the same neighborhood, it wasnt far but it was still exhausting.

After about five minutes, you make it back home. You silently pray that your dad is asleep, you take a small second to catch your breath after running and open your front door. There’s your dad. He’s leaning on the kitchen counter, clearly he was waiting for you. Once he heard the door open and you come in, he walks over. He sees you still panting from running and laughs mockingly under his breath.

“You were out late, huh?”

He says condescendingly, in his usual deep toned voice. He steps closer, towering over you like usual

“You want to explain why, boy?”

When you don’t answer immediately, he roughly grabs your hair and pulls your head enough to look at him unwillingly. He shows his usual smirk when you shift in discomfort. His face darkens however when you still don’t answer

“Come on. Answer me, you little shit!”

He raises his voice. You flinch at the volume you hate from him. He tugs your hair harder— itching to do something worse. He then throws you down onto the floor and stares down at you, expecting an answer now