fff#59

i had a hard time with this fff and as a result it was a bit rushed. just the same, it's still nice to be fffing. thanks to jj for the opportunity.

It was untoward what he/she said to him/her/me but worst of all was…

it was untoward what he said to me but worst of all was the tone he carried through his near incoherent mumbling. it was his “long-day-at-work, third-glass-of-gin, you-little-shit” tone again: a tone that i hated and tried to avoid at all costs. it meant i would be waking up hours later with a headache and any combination of fat lips, black eyes, chipped teeth and bloody ears. i often wished my ears could bleed earlier as a warning sign; at least then i would know to keep my distance. they never seemed to warn me on time, of course, and the stresses of the work day and the chilled sting of the gin could be felt with each individual punch which i found was proportional to the number of drinks. sometimes, when the drink count was above five i was able to find him too tired, well, too shitfaced to take out his stresses. unfortunately, tonight had only been a 3 or 4 drink night, judging by the amount of slurring, and i had to bare the brunt of it. after i came to i would normally watch him passed out on the couch, staying awake all night to make sure that if he did wake up in need of another stress relief, it would be on me and not one of my siblings. tonight would be no different, including the strict promise that i would never let it happen again. i told myself, as i had so many times before, that the next time i would battle back. i snuck away from my post at the end of the couch long enough to see what stress marks he left on my face. with my head throbbing and my right eye practically swollen shut, the blurry self-portrait starring back at me couldn’t lie and showed me a monstrosity of a man i was starting to know all too well. i tried to wash my face clean of all its color, but the soap and water removed only the red; leaving behind the blacks, blues, and purples. returning to my post just after midnight, i noticed immediately that there was an escapee from the couch’s holding cell. where was he? i rushed to the bedrooms, checking on each room to ensure the safety of the innocent. they were fine. walking back down the hall and past the holding cell, the faint smell of gin got caught in my nose and i turned just in time to dodge the bottle coming toward my head. i watched the image of a beefeater shatter against the coffee table and quickly grabbed the largest shard i could find in anticipation for combat. he came at me in a drunken, staggered rush and moments later found himself with the glass shard pressed hard against his jugular. it was time that i hold up to my promise. i pressed the shard even harder into his skin until a bead of blood developed at the point of impact. in a moment of sobriety, i watched his face go white and fill with fear. my arm went weak and dropped the now red-tipped shard. “never touch any of them, or i’ll come back for you,” i said with a certainty to let him know i meant it. i walked out the front door and collapsed to my knees in the street long enough to comprehend that i had just nearly killed my father. i’ve never gone back and hope my siblings are still alright.