On Our Own: Seth's Story

Once upon a troubled teen’s life, there was a Seth. And this good-looking guy named Seth made all the girls swoon. Trust and believe; they fainted at the sight of him. When he winked, their whole worlds exploded into a mushy heart full of love.

Okay, so maybe I stretched the truth just a bit. This isn’t a third person story, I’m the narrator, and I’m actually the “smooth and suave” Seth I was talking about. I wish I was actually good-looking, and I had to power to actually make a girl faint. However, I did not.

Nevertheless, that “troubled teen life” part was so spot on it hurt. There was no way you could be popular – or even worth staring at – if you weren’t a jock. I’m not even athletic by any means; it was quite pathetic if you ask me.

And even off the topic of popularity, my life was still complete and utter crap. In addition to the hatred of the students at Red Bride Junior High, I also had the hatred of my own family.

I don’t even want to go there; but I will anyway to have something to start this off with. I’ll make it plain and simple. I won’t cry and whine and sob and get all in hysterics and make you feel sympathy for me. I might as well be quick and blunt about this topic. The sooner you guys know and I can shut up, the better.

I’m abused.                                          

Well, not physically, more of verbally and just for the hell of it. Sometimes my dad might throw a few punches here and there, but it’s more of “You’ll never be worth anything” or, “Why do I waste my time with you?” or “You should’ve died with her!”

He usually followed that up with a bunch of sick words I will not repeat.

I was always brought down to my knees from my dad. He loved the fact he could make me broken; and just left me there with a punctured heart. It amused to him to tiny little pieces, and I was furious at that. The truth.

Dad used to be a wonderful guy; he used to be full of jolly and love, and everything else that runs along something a nice guy likes. Every time I came home from school (school was nice back then, in case you were curious), he would always welcome me with a tight embrace. A smile, a warm smile I haven’t seen since then.

“Have a good day, Dad.” I would call over my shoulder, grinning at the man I looked up to. The guy I was proud to say was the man that was the reason I stood on the ground today.

“Ditto, kiddo,” He would always reply back. His eyes would twinkle with something else I haven’t seen since then – care. Love. Affection. Happiness. Then after he said that catch phrase, we would bump fists as my mom gave a roll to her grey eyes.

“Boys,” She muttered under her breath as she shook her head. “Even mine.”

I still remembered her voice. The things she would do when angry – though that was rarely -, and the things she would do to show her pleasure. She always wore a smile on her face, no matter how dull the day was.

What I would do to see that smile again.

A real smile; a smile I would fall off a cliff just to catch a glimpse of. My mom’s smile.

We needed her right now. I needed her for crying out loud! My dad never smiled ever since then; well, he always gave a sick grin that usually resulted after he finished breaking me bit by bit. A little shove onto my bed as he said one last evil sentence. And then, that was all.

“If only mom was here,” I whispered to myself, tears welling up into my green orbs. I shivered as I slid down my wall, and ended up landing on my bottom of the cold wooden bedroom floor. It wasn’t carpeted; Dad wouldn’t want to spend his “hard earned cash” on me.

His worthless son.