Page 13 of My Best Years
Even if we were close, my father would go to extreme lengths to hide how he treats me from Grant.
What it all boils down to is that I was a mistake to my parents. My father has voiced those words to me countless times. I’m the kid that my parents never wanted. In my father’s eyes, he should be traveling in his free time and enjoying life as an empty nester, not taking care of a twelve-year-old.
On top of that, my dad has a serious drinking problem. It started when Grant was in high school and has only gotten worse over the years. When my brother moved away, our father didn’t know how to handle losing him. So, he drank. And I’m always there at the bottom of the bottle, waiting to take on his wrath.
Sometimes, I think that my mom may love me. But other times, when my father is beating me to a pulp, I’m convincedthat she hates me. Because what kind of parent stands by and watches their kid get hurt over and over again?
I’m distracted from my thoughts as the front door swings open with force. My father steps through the entryway, crossing his arms over his broad shoulders. He looks furious.
“Get inside,” he says in a flat but lethal tone.“Now.”
Oh no.
This is going to be bad. I don’t know what he’s angry about today, but I know it won’t be good for me.
Just nod your head and say yes, Callum. Just listen to what he says, and maybe he’ll let you go.
“Yes, sir,” I rush out, picking up my pace as I speed walk to the door.
Once I’m inside, he slams the door and shoves my much smaller body against the wall. My backpack falls from my shoulders, crashing to the marble floor with a thud.
When my eyes land on the glass table in the middle of our foyer, I see a crystal tumbler filled with a clear liquid. I instantly know that it isn't water.
I’ve heard that whiskey can make a person mean, but for my dad, vodka is what sets him off. Whenever I see nothing but vodka in his glass, I know that he’s out for blood.
“Do you remember what I asked of you last night?” His breath reeks of hard liquor.
My terrified gaze snaps up to his. My heart is beating out of control. I think I might throw up.
I try to remember. I try so hard. But last night, I spent hours studying for a test I had today. My brain blocked out everything else.
“N-no,” I croak, shaking my head.
“Think harder,” he demands through clenched teeth.
I finch ateach word.
“I…” I stammer. “Dad, I had an algebra test today. I studied all night until I fell asleep.”
His nostrils flare.
“I don’t give a shit what you had today,” he spits, raising his voice. “I don’t want to hear another excuse come from your mouth. I asked you to clean your room after dinner last night, but you didn’t listen.”
He’s lying. If anything, I might have forgotten to make my bed. But my room is always clean.Always.
Because if it’s not, I know what the punishment will be. I learned that lesson the hard way years ago.
My father isn’t mad about my room. He just wants…needssomeone to be angry with. And right now, that target is me.
“Why can’t you just do as I say?” he clips, his bloodshot eyes bugging out of his head. “Why can’t you ever seem to follow the fucking rules?”
His spit lands on my face with each word. I used to be able to control my emotions when it came to my father, but the older I get, the harder it is to contain my hatred for him.
“I told you,” I reply through clenched teeth. “I had a test.”
He narrows his eyes to slits.
“Excuse me, boy?” he asks in a menacing tone.