My Demons (Book 1)

Chapter 2: What Are Friends For?

Picture of Phil
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Phil's p.o.v

I felt sorry for Alex. He had to deal with all this shit at school and...yeah. But I had my own problems, and they came in the form of my dad. Thankfully, my mum was spending a week away with her friends at some fancy spa in London.

I paused at the iron gates between me and Mr Grumpy. Was it worth it? I could stay in a hotel room and invite Alex over using my new credit card. Deciding to go with option two, I turned round to leave.

'Phil William Donaldson! Don't make me come out there!' A fuming voice boomed out of the speaker. He was mad. Real mad.

'I love you too dad,' I muttered under my breath, not bothering to hold back the sarcasm.

'I heard that.' Damn it. He didn't miss anything. The gates opened to reveal a large, anicent house. It was like a mansion almost. The faded bricks made it look really historic. The windows were tinted and a couple of them broken as a result of my stunts. I walked down the gravel path, dragging my feet along the ground. This really annoyed my dad.

Reaching the blue oak door, I took a deep breath and opened it slowly. He stood there in his suit and tie, except he was holding my black holdall bag. His nostrils flared slightly as his eyes darted from me to the bag.

'You left this in my office.' His anger showed when he spoke; more than he wanted it to. I was screwed.

'Thanks.' I snapped back. Snatching my bag, I walked past him without another word. He tried to grab my arm, although I was already sprinting down the hallway. He pursued moments later.

Racing up the spiral staircase two steps at a time, I glanced over my shoulder to see him reach out to grab my legs, however I was too quick. He let out an angry, exasperated yell. By the time he had finished scrambling after me, I had slammed my bedroom door shut. Quickly, I fiddled with the lock until I was positive it was secure and bolted.

Mum had installed it on the door when I was eleven.

My heart rate slowed down; I was safe.

My dad had anger issues, I was trembling at the thought of him being able to break in. Mum had promised me that he was getting better. He had not hit her for several years now, which was a massive improvement. But I was still afraid. She did not know what he did when she was not home.

I could envision his regretful eyes gazing out upon the fireplace. He would have his head in his hands, sighing to himself, pondering over how to make everything right again.

But it did not stop me from pissing him off. In fact it was one of my favourite hobbies. I knew it was a bad idea, but it was fun. Especially when I had my best friend by my side. We were like brothers more than friends.

I froze. My dad was panting behind the door. He knocked twice softly and waited. I did not reply. He banged on the door hard, shaking the walls. I backed away from the door and sat on my bed against the headrest.

'I'm sorry that I lost my temper Phil. Trust me when I say this, I can't control it. I try my best, but it's apart of me.' He paused, choosing his next words carefully. 'You'll understand soon enough. Please Phil, can you let me in so we can talk? I promise I won't hurt you.' He pleaded with me. I remembered the last time he had told me that.

11 years earlier

"Mama, when is daddy coming back? I want to show him my new bike!" I squealed excitedly. She beamed a bright smile. Her hand ruffled my hair and I scolded at her playfully. No one touched my hair without permission.