*violence, sucky ending, etc*
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Flesh colored blur from the left, impact.
He stumbled back into his van. The passengers side mirror stabbing into his back.
It took a few seconds for him to realize that his father had just hit him.
Impact. Stars exploded before his eyes and he fell to his knees, the metallic taste of blood running down his throat, warm flow from his nose, running down busted lips.
Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulder, his shirt. Fabric ripped and he was on his feet again, making a futile attempt to cover his face.
Glass broke somewhere behind him, the back of his head throbbed, warm rush of blood down his back. Again, down on the pavement. He made an attempt to crawl under his van, away from danger, away from his father.
Someone was yelling, but the sound of blood pumping in his ears was too loud to make out any words.
It was funny, how one minute they could be having a nice, regular conversation, and a few seconds later he would be beaten to a bloody pulp, driving to a friends house to stay for a while. They weren't overly surprised when it happened, but then again he was the only person (to his knowlege) whose father used them for punching bags on a somewhat regular basis.
He would have laughed at this if he hadn't just been kicked in the stomach.
Now would be a good time to try and fight back.
They were family, blood. The thought of hitting his father made him feel ashamed.
They were family, he loved his father.
Image of a man standing over his son, smiling, playfully mussing his hair.
Image of a man standing over his unconcious son, laying in a bloody heap on his driveway.
The smell of oil and a steady pain in his stomach brought him back.
"Holy shit. What the fuck happened to you?"
He thought about covering his face, but that wouldn't help. There was blood all over his clothes and numerous scrapes and bruises everywhere else.
"Wait, lemme guess. You got in an argument with your dad and he kicked your ass, and called the cops on you?"
"Nah, no cops this time."
"I tried calling your cell a little while ago, guess that's why you didn't answer."
"Dont bother calling it anymore. I broke it."
"Of all the things you could break, you broke your phone?"
Shrug . "First thing I could get my hands on."
They went out that night, he and his friends. They laughed and joked around and had a good time, despite all that had happened. In the morning everything would be back to normal. All of his neighbors who peeked out from their blinds and curtains would try to forget what they saw, but everytime they drove by and saw bloodstains on the driveway (which he would be cleaning up on Sunday), they'd remember.
And another thing is, no matter how much you think you love someone, you'll step back when a pool of their blood edges too close.