This is the first chapter of a series I'm working on. Please tell me how you like it c: This won't be very sexual, but next chapters will be.
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I sat from the tree, staring at the fat fuck pummel his wife like she was a punching bag. For the past three weeks this is all he has done. He gets home from work, throws his briefcase by the couch, and beats the hell out of his woman for whatever she had done wrong that day. His face red with rage as the wife just puts up with it on the ground.
That's what she does everyday too. She puts up with her fat fuck husband beating her, goes into the bedroom, and injects a little "medicine" to help her take the pain away. She covers the bruises with cheap powder and goes and buys groceries for her loving family.
The son is who just makes the family that much greater. He couldn't care who he hurts, who he breaks. He fucks all the pretty girls then tells everyone the day after how much of a slut they were. He punches the younger kids, and tries to act tough. All of this just to cover up the fact that he is gay.
I have been watching them for over a month now. Planning, each and every detail of what is about to happen this night. I check my bag one last time, and a grin crosses my lips as I leap from the tree, and into the backyard.
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My volume from my iPod is as high as it can go. I don't even want to think about tomorrow or what it will bring. It's Thanksgiving tomorrow, and you know what that means. Family reunion for the most fucked up family in existence. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only sane one in the family. My grandma and grandpa smoke their lives away, and insult everything I do. My aunt and uncle are swingers, and they love to tell just about everyone about it. My cousins are all absolutely stupid. High off their asses every day so much that you can't even talk to them. But for some reason we still all meet up every Thanksgiving and eat a home-cooked dinner made by yours truly, my heroine-addict mother. But I have my problems and issues too, I guess.
I sigh quietly and change the song. It's late, and I consider going to bed. But if I take my headphones out now, I'll hear my stepfather and mom arguing. It's hard to go to sleep when all you hear is crying, screaming, and things crashing and breaking. I pull out a headphone to see if they have calmed down a bit. And something strange hits me.
It's silent. Absolutely silent. It's never silent in this house, ever. My older brother usually has his music on full blast over the stereo, or some random girl is moaning from his room. The TV is usually on full blast on football, but I don't hear a damn thing.
I get up, confused, to go see if they left. I creep out of my room silently and peek into my brother's room. He isn't there. His backpack is still there, and he never leaves the house without his backpack. Strange. I walk down the hallway, to go venture out into the living room, see if my step dad is passed out on the couch. It's empty, completely empty. But then I hear a sound, a muffled sound coming from near the backdoor, out on the patio. My skin crawls as I grab a knife, not that I'd use it or anything, just to intimidate.
I gasp as the wind hits me harshly, and I whip around. The back door is way open, right to the patio. I tiptoe out, and peek around. I see a shape in the distance, like it's crouched. I creep a little closer, and recognize my brother. My brother who's hands are tied to his feet like a hog, his mouth duct-taped closed. His eyes dart fast, like he's signaling something. I whip around fast and a pair of bright blue eyes meet mine. They shine so bright, it's like he has goddamn flashlights in his skull. I yelp as he grabs the knife from my hand, pulls me by the waist, and sets the knife to rest right on my neck. My back is touching his stomach, and I can feel his heartbeat, and it is calm. I can also feel mine, and I'm confused to why I'm not having a heart attack right now.
