I used to give a damn about making Jim A.K.A my father happy, but you know what. I don’t care if that bastard hates me or even wants me dead. As a matter of fact I don't care if the whole world wants me dead. For all I care everybody could shove their opinions up there asses and choke to death.
I look around my room and see the broken glass left over from Jim's drunken tantrum. Of course that bastard wouldn't bother to clean up the mess he made. As I move to get off the blanket, which is what my bed consists of, I notices a bunch of new bruise added to my collection. There is definitely something wrong with my leg, it has swollen to double of its original size, not to mention the awkward angle the bone is sticking out. Figures, that the bastard would leave me like this, he never fucking cared if I lived or died, he made that clear plenty of times throughout my childhood, no all that bastard ever cared about was making his stupid ass slut of a wife happy.
I am bracing myself for the pain that I know is going to come with standing when I hear loud banging coming from down stairs, signaling that Jim is home from work. “Get done here this instant you damn waste of space.”
Waste of space, huh Jim's not as creative today as he usually is. I’m almost standing when I hear “Jake you better get your ugly ass done here this instant or I swear I’m going to fucking kill you.” I actually lost count of how many times I heard Jim say that growing up. Yeah keep threatening bastard I’m still alive. I lived through being stabbed, kicked, and burned, there’s no way I’m going to let myself be killed by a bastard like you.