Who Are You

CHAPTER ONE.

His body trembled softly in pure agony as his father had come home drunk and in a terrible mood, making his pale skin black and blue. Sadly, he had no more tears to cry over his situation anymore.

He didn't even feel bad for himself anymore. He just wanted his painful life to end. It all started when his mother left, promising to come back. — She never did, however, his mother would send him birthday cards, and Christmas cards as well. There was even a moment in his life when she sent him a plane ticket with a card telling him to come visit. He kept everything his mother gave him under a floorboard, where his father wouldn't find it.

"Oliver!"

A shout echoes throughout the household.

His father.

A man who has wasted his life; he has nothing. No friends, no wife, nothing to his name but the beer cans and the drugs he loved more than life itself. He doesn't work or pay bills. Oliver sometimes wondered how he still had a roof over his head.

However, hearing his name called made the poor teen flinch, nearly jumping out of his own skin, though he forced himself off the floor of his nearly empty bedroom and made his way to the living room. "Yes?" His voice cut in; it was small. Timid. Fear bumped through his veins; one wrong move and it would be another beating on his behalf.

That's when the large man chuckles from the dirty old green sofa; it barely holds his weight. "There you are, I need another beer!"

Oliver swallowed the lump in his throat he found the courage to speak. "Yes, sir," he shakes his head before quietly making his way into the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the fridge, he couldn't help but pause. — Looking over to his left, he stares,  and that's when a thought crosses his mind, making his heart jump when his father shouts.

"What is taking you so fuckin' long! I swear you gays can't do shit!"

This made Oliver blink softly, looking over at the old green sofa that no longer held his father's weight, and this made the poor boy's heart race with alarm. Adrenaline was pumping throughout his bloodstream. "Shit," he stares up at his father, who was making his way over, already taking his belt off. "I'm sorry! Just please! Not again!" He begs, taking a few steps back.

His father shook his head;  the clink of his belt echoed in Oliver's mind. Terrified. "You need to be taught a lesson," he chuckles darkly, reaching out to grab hold of his son.

When Oliver's wrist was suddenly grabbed, something inside of him snapped. Before he knew it, he grabbed hold of the object on the counter behind him and swung.

The blade of the knife found its way snuggled into the man's forehead. He watched as his father's corpse fell to the ground lifeless before glancing over at the bloody blade, and that's when his breathing picked up; he didn't hesitate to get on top of the body. — Stabbing the lifeless chest. Over and over, chewing at his lower lip to silence his screams of hate. Until he couldn't see through his glasses.

The house falls silent, other than Oliver's heavy breathing, dropping the steak knife onto the crimson wooden floor. Once his breathing calms, he blinks back to reality. Oliver freezes in place. "Oh, no, shit," he whispers, looking around the household. His heart wouldn't calm down, his breathing picking up again as the realization finally kicks in.

He has taken someone else's life without hesitation, and yet he has ended his suffering. "I...I, fuck, I can't go to jail," he whispers, pushing himself to stand, nearly falling over as his legs felt like jello. That's when his mind started to race with all types of outcomes for himself, slowly setting himself into a panic mindset.

"Sh! Stop it, I can't panic, or I won't get anything done, I need to think," he tells himself, slapping himself across the face to clear his mind. Looking back over at the corpse, he couldn't help but back away before rushing to the tiny bathroom of the household.