Stuck (part III)

Waking up to the sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen left no doubt where he was, and when. But the what, that was something he didn’t know about this time around. So far he’d tried about everything he could from a legal standpoint, he’d even tried just walking away from it all, and it was no good. His parents had found him, and the punishment had been even greater since he’d inconvenienced them in an even bigger way than before. They didn’t like to be inconvenienced, he had the scars to prove it.

“Where is that no-good little sonofabitch?!” roared his father, “It’s his turn to make the shittin’ breakfast today?! Where is he?!!”

“He’s probably still sleepin’ like a lazy ass,” his mother, already sauced, said from what he presumed was their soiled and stained couch. If anyone had ever asked him why he wanted to get out of this place he’d have been hard-pressed to give them just one reason. This was the life he’d been grateful to escape when the chance had come along, and the life that he’d put behind him and beyond the reach of his current family in the future without hesitation.

“Well go get him up then bitch!” his father yelled. From the way he was talking it was a certainty that he’d been lining his nostrils with something already, but his level of violence hadn’t reach its peak yet, since otherwise he would have come storming in on his own. As it was, he could hear his mother as she pulled her besotted ass off the sofa and came shuffling down the hall to his room. He had to decide what to do quickly, but there were only a few options open that would likely remove him from this hellhole, and being nice and complacent wasn’t one of them.

It didn’t matter how much bowed or scraped to these hicks, they’d still find an excuse to beat him senseless. If he even looked at them wrong, or what they perceived as wrong, they would kick the living shit out of him. His mother wasn’t even to his door yet when he made the decision. In fact, even smiled as he reached behind his pillow, figuring that things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

He hoped.

(to be continued)