(Part Three) -- The Shack Forums

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When I got home, a slight tremor began to beat heavily in my chest. Slamming against my ribs and crowding my lungs until it was almost too hard for me to breathe. But the smile remained. I've got love to protect me now. It's something that my father will never be able to touch. It's mine. He can't break it. He can't toss it in the trash, he can't beat it out of me, and he'll never be able to convince me that it isn't real. Because, despite all of the damage he's done to me over the years...I now know that there's a way out. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. And he doesn't have any power over that. None at all.

I walked up the back steps and put my key in to open the door. My hair was wet, my shirt was soaked from the rain, and I kicked my shoes off as soon as I walked into the kitchen so as not to trak any mud into the house. I won't lie to you...I felt good. I felt great. And I felt like giggling and skipping happily back to my room once I got my shoes off.

But when I turned around...there he was. Standing right there in the hallway. The very size of him was too intimidating to think that I'd ever be able to simply sneak past him. I was definitely going to take a beating. I could already see it in his eyes. In his stance. I could even hear it in the way he was breathing. It's not like I'm not used to the signs at this point. Like they say...every animal can sense its own distinction.

"So..." He said, his voice holding back his full fury in order to catch me off guard once he explodes again. "...You just decided that you were going to come home whenever you felt like it, huh? No homework? No chores? No dinner?"

There was a storm inside of me that was still terrified of him...to the point where I nearly wet myself in his presence...but this was different. I had an anchor. I had something to remind me that I had an entire life outside of his vile torture and utter disgust for everything that I am as a person. And if I could just hold on to the beauty of Brody's kiss in my heart...I felt as though I could face anything he had to throw my way. Anything.

"I went to a friend's house after school. That's all." I said, still keeping my distance.

"That's not what I fucking asked you..." He snarled through gritted teeth. "...You're supposed to come straight home from school. Not just today, but EVERY day! What did I tell you, huh?"

Figuring that he was going to hurt me either way, I fixed my posture...shoulders back, chest out...and I looked him right in the eye. "It's no big deal. I wanted to go. So I went." I said. "Just let me change into some dry clothes and I'll get dinner started..."

I walked towards him to get to my room, but he didn't move. Now angrier than ever. "Big man now, are ya?"

"I said I'd make dinner, what more do you want from me?" I said defiantly. After soooo many years of scathing remarks and aggressive abuse, I just didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower before his rage like I usually do. For one day...just one...I wanted to live my life as though it mattered. And he had no right to prevent me from doing so. Enough is enough.

"You think I give a fuck about you wanting to hang out with your sissy friends??? Huh?" He grunted, and then shouted, "*ANSWER ME*!!!" My sudden flinch was involuntary. Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes as my heart began to pound violently in my chest. A brainwashed response to his usual hostility. But I fought it back this time. Instead of waiting for him to move or begging him for permission, I actually put my hands up to push his arm down so that I could pass him. "Where do you think you're going???"

"What the fuck...???" He suddenly grabbed a hold of my shirt and slammed my back against the wall so hard that it nearly knocked the wind out of me. "Who do you think you are? HUH??? Fucking little pretty boy faggot!!! This is MY house! You hear me? When I tell you to come home, you'd better fucking haul your ass and get home! I don't give a shit WHAT you think you want to do with your faggot friends after school! Your life, your time...it belongs to ME! You hear me?" He shouted, practically spitting in my face the whole time. But I didn't answer him. And I didn't look away either. I stared at him the same way that he was staring at me. "Who do you belong to? Say it!" I refused to utter a single word. I just kept looking him in the eye, even as heated tears began to run down my cheeks. "SAY IT!!!" He demanded, slamming my back against the wall again. But I didn't do it. I wouldn't. Who do I belong to? Only Brody has the right to ask me that question.

I suddenly felt an extremely hard slap connect with the side of my head, and my vision nearly went white from the impact of it. "LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" I shouted. But he only hit me again, and then again...and after the third time, my arms just reached out and I pushed him off of me as hard as I possibly could, now pressing his back up against the opposite wall of the hallway.

He seemed really surprised at first, and to be honest, I think I had even surprised myself. But once he grabbed a hold of my hair, my entire body entered an entirely different level of survival mode that I hadn't really experienced before now. I actually balled up my fist and I swung on my own father as hard and as fast as I possibly could, punching him multiple times in the fucking face and doing all I could to finally fight back as best as I could. He's always been so much bigger than me. Older than me. STRONGER than me! But none of that mattered in that moment. If he was going to kill me, I was going to go down fighting for my life, just like the angry soldier he raised me to be!

I felt him sucker punch me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and dropping me to my knees immediately. But I held on to one of his legs, still swinging with all of the strength that I had left, even if I couldn't breathe. He kneed me in the face, and banged my head against the wall before picking me up and tossing me back into the kitchen. I was curled up on the floor, but I didn't want to stop. I couldn't. Not now. Not ever again. Even though I felt like I wanted to vomit from the knots tightening up in the center of my stomach, I wasn't going to surrender to him. I ALWAYS surrender to him!!!

A hammer, a tire iron, a bottle of bleach in the basement next to the washing machine.

And as he kicked me in the side, I got up and ran right at him, digging my shoulder deep into him, and pushed him back against the stove with a primal scream that caused my voice to crack and my throat to burn...but I just kept at it. And I hit him! I hit him! I hit him! I HIT HIM!!! And he tried to choke me, lifting my little teenage body up onto the kitchen counter and knocking my head against the cabinets. But my hands were reaching for whatever they could to hit him with. Son of a bitch! I'm not the weak little boy that I used to be! I'm going to make you WORK to take me down this time!

I grabbed a dirty dinner plate by the sink and I smashed it over his head. And then I held on to a piece of the broken dish to cut him on his arm and on the side of his neck. "FUCK YOU!!!"

"You little SHIT!!!" He shouted, and knocked the broken plate out of my hand. Then...despite him being so 'careful' with how he bruised me in the past...he suddenly punched me right in the fucking face with his knuckles slamming into my left eye so hard that my body went limp, with me crying out loud in pain and nearly blinded from the force of it. Already, I could feel the bruise swelling up...and no amount of tears would be able to heal it up.

But still...I kept fighting. I could barely see, and I was standing on wobbly legs, but this so called 'pretty boy' was going to finally give my father the fight he had been looking for all along. He wanted to make a monster out of me. Well...the monster is here now. DEAL with it, you heartless bastard!

I swung at him with whatever strength I had left in me, and he mercilessly punched me in the face, closed fist, again...knocking me backwards and dropping me to the floor. I felt a gush of warm liquid cascade down over my lips and drip off of my chin. At first, I thought it might be mucous or something, but there was soooo much of it. And when I looked at my shirt, and rubbed my hand over my face, I saw more blood running out of me than I had ever witnessed before. My whole face was numb with the pain of it all, and I couldn't breathe without this gurgling sound nearly choking me as the acidic taste of my own blood ran down the back of my throat. My father began to kick and beat me while I was down, so I had to fight and use the counter behind me to keep my balance as I rose up to my feet again. We're not finished yet, you asshole...

I punched and kicked at him until he was forced to take a few steps back away from me to protect himself. And that's when my sight, although pretty blurry, came back to me...and I started throwing everything that I could at him. The muscles in my arms were so sore from the struggle, but I pushed them past their limits as I threw dishes, pots, pans, cans that I found in the cabinet...whatever I had in reach. And one of the cans of corn flew right over his shoulder, shattering the window with a loud crash as it rolled out onto our back porch.

That vindictive savage and I were shouting as loud as we possibly could at one another, and I knew that there was no other way out of this than having one of us fucking DIE tonight! I can't take anymore! I tied to be everything that he wanted me to be. I tried to be strong. I tried to have a sense of grace and merit. I've cleaned this house up from top to bottom without complaint! I make his meals! I take out the trash! I do all I can to make good grades at school! But he's NEVER going to be fucking satisfied! I don't even think he knows HOW to be happy with anything at this point! And I'm so....I'm so exhausted. I can't live like this anymore. I can't be his punching bag whenever he suddenly feels like he wants to hurt somebody. Because he HATES me! He's always going to feel like he wants to hurt somebody! And I just can't let that be my problem anymore.

I'll keep fighting if he comes anywhere near me, but...honestly...it was so hard to breathe at that moment. My limbs were so weak. My eye was so swollen and purple. And all I could think was...'He's going to kill me. Isn't he?'

I think that made me cry harder than anything. But not for my own life. More for the fact that I knew I might never see Brody again. Share another one of those sweet kisses, or play fight with him in a random toy store. Ride behind him on his bike in the rain...or go making silly wishes on lightning bolts in the sky. I knew it would hurt Adam that he wasn't able to save me. Or Sam who wasn't able to run up and jump on my back on the way to school ever again. Or cheerfully gab about another pizza day at school. I was never going to have my mom sneak up behind me while I was dancing in my room to a Stevie Wonder song, or have her hold me in her arms again to kiss me goodnight. It was a heavy sacrifice, but it was one that I felt I had to make. I'm not going to let him take this joy away from me. He didn't earn it. I did. I was making my stand...right here, and right now. And if I didn't come out of this alive...that means I was going to have to say goodbye to all of that. And all of that was going to have to say goodbye...to me...

My father was staring daggers in my direction, but I didn't give a fuck anymore. I just don't have it in me to care anymore. He took a few steps forward, and I turned around to the kitchen drawer to grab a hold of the biggest butcher knife that I could find. The one I always used to cut up chicken for his fucking dinner, night after night. Oh yes...I knew that kitchen much better than he ever could. I held onto the handle with both hands, pointing it right at his chest. Both of us were breathing heavily, my face fully covered in tears and blood...and it was almost like he was daring me to go for it! He was practically taunting me with it.

"What the fuck do you think you're gonna do with that?" He said. "You're nothing, Zack. LESS than nothing. You think that scares me? You're the biggest pussy on the planet. You look silly trying to draw a knife on me." I know that he was trying to get me to rush at him or something so he could take it away from me. But I didn't. I know he was trying to break me down and cause me to be too afraid to act against him. But I wasn't. Even through my tears, I kept my eyes focused on his...and he knew, at long last, that he had now crossed a line that could never be redrawn in the sand when it came to hurting me.

And it was at that moment that I had this waking realization of who and what he really was. I can't describe what it was or how it happened...but at that very moment, with me holding that knife in my hands...my hands trembling, my arms weak...I saw my father for who he really was. And it was pathetic. Worthless. He was everything that he wanted me to believe that I was...and worse. Insecure. Impotent. Someone who found themselves so loathsome, so unworthy of love or affection, that he has to bring everybody else down into his pit of misery to feel as though he has any self worth at all. It was...kind of sad.

I saw all of the time that I wasted, and all of the damage I had done to my own psyche over the years. I saw where I would be heading in the future...if it weren't for the companionship of my very best fiends, and...Brody's love.

That's what this has been about this whole time...isn't it? He doesn't hate me for being me. He hates me for not being him. It hurts and angers him that I have a chance to be happy in a world that rejected him a long time ago. He hurts me because he doesn't feel that anyone deserves to not feel the pain that he's feeling. My happiness is the literal bane of his existence...and he simply can't handle that. God, he's so weak. And so was I before this very moment. The difference being...

...I finally found a way to get rid of the 'mask'. That stupid artificial mask that I crafted and wasted so much energy on, trying to appear normal to other people while avoiding the fact that I wasn't taking the time to love myself. Or even look for reasons as to why I should.

I 'see' you, Dad. For the first time in my life...I actually see you. Your mask has cracked wide open. And you're so far beneath me as a human being, that I'm actually ashamed that I was ever scared of you to begin with.

I didn't hear the police sirens in the distance, but I did notice the flashing red and blue lights as they flickered outside of the shattered window by the back door. There were already heavy footsteps charging up the stairs before my father had a chance to really react. He gave me a stern look. One of those looks that he always used to intimidate me when it came to telling anybody else about what was going on in this house. But that look was so powerless now. At least in my eyes. I'll never quake and shiver in front of you again, you piece of shit. Never again.

"Chicago Police Department! Open up!" Came the voices from outside. A few more loud knocks, and my father began to tremble, still trying to maintain control over a situation that he simply didn't have a handle on anymore. He didn't move, and neither did I. I just held that knife out, letting him know that he could get it stabbed right through his fucking heart if he dared to come anywhere near me. So he remained still...and soon the police used a few harsh kicks and some kind of handheld battering ram to burst through the back door...where they found me and my father standing on either side of that kitchen...me bleeding and crying and holding a knife to protect myself...and him...slowly raising his hands in the air to not put up a fight.

He protested a bit at first, but somebody had obviously called the cops and let them know what was happening here, so I saw them slam him down on the kitchen floor and handcuff him behind his back before dragging him back up to his feet and taking him outside. One of the officers began to approach me slowly, both of his hands open to let me know that he wasn't holding a weapon of any kind. I didn't even realize that I was still holding the knife...my hands shaking violently as he approached. "It's ok, son. We're here to help. Alright? Let's...let's set this down somewhere, ok?" He said. I almost didn't want to let it go. My adrenaline filled survivor mode was still amped up to a full ten...but when he gently place his hand on my wrist...I let it drop down to the floor, and I began balling my eyes out as he hugged me close. "It's ok, kid. We got him. Ok? We got him."

As I walked back out into the rain, sheltered by the roof of the back porch with the officer putting a blanket around my shoulders, I looked across the alley to see Mr. Schultz talking to some of the other police men. I guess he was the one who called after the back window got shattered and he heard all of the yelling and conflict coming from inside. He saw me being escorted out of the house...and gave me a nod. I returned with a thank you...giving him a nod in return. I saw Adam and his mom also standing outside, their faces illuminated by the flashing police car lights. And Mrs. Kwai from down the block. Everybody was watching me. And they were watching my dad as he was shoved into the back of a squad car. And I felt myself getting dizzy.

I was so exposed at that moment. I know that I should be feeling a sense of relief or something...but the truth is...I felt more anxiety and paranoia than ever before. I felt like everybody could see through my mask too for the first time. And it hurt. I don't know if you can understand how mortifying it is to be on display for something like this shameful horror of events...but it truly does something to you. On the inside. It breaks a part of you in half...and it leaves you wondering if you'll ever be able to fix it again.

I thought about my father being taken to jail, and my eye being so black and bruised, my nose still bleeding...my neighbors, my friends...Brody...

What kind of madness is my MOM going to come home to tonight? What am I going to tell her? She's going to be so angry with me when she finds out that I didn't say anything sooner. So guilty about not being able to protect me, even though she was working hard to make sure that I'd have a better life. I don't know if I'll be able to look her in the eye. I really don't.

Everything just began to overwhelm me to the point where I nearly passed out, and the policemen had to hold me up and call for someone to take me to the hospital for an evaluation. And...well...that was that. At least for the night.