escape

    My palms are shaking, and I can feel the sweat building up in the crevices between my fingers. I hated it. It was sticky and warm, like syrup that gets all over your mouth when eating pancakes or waffles. The hairs on my neck practically danced like they were trying to taunt me. I feel the pit in my stomach grows more prominent every second.

   I sit on the bar stools behind the kitchen counter, resting my forearms on the cold white marble tops, trying to block out his voice. But I could hear it like a police siren getting closer and closer to you. Sometimes, it felt like the sound was coming from all directions. That's how his voice felt to me: Loud, frightening, neverending.

   "You're never gonna change, are you? You're always gonna be a disgrace to this family." His back was to me; he was making himself a drink.

    Probably filled with alcohol, he consumes more alcohol than water.

    I knew I couldn't give him a reaction; if I did, it always ended in me on the floor in pain. He was just projecting onto me; he wanted me to react so he could strike back.

    We both know where I got my temper from. The stranger a few feet away from me was the man I was supposed to call Dad. I hate that just because he's related to me by blood means I can't hate him the way I do.

It's not fair. Because I did. I hated that man with every ounce of my body. 

     He wasn't family. Family is supposed to feel like home, not hell. I lost my home along with my mom three years ago. I have searched for it all this time but have never found it.

   "If your mother was still alive, she'd realized what a terrible mistake you are." He snaps at me.

    I don't say anything. I stare at the knives in their holder next to the sink. They weren't too far from reach for me; I just had to lean over the counter a little, and I'd be able to grab the biggest one there.

    I look back and forth between the knives and him. My thoughts were racing along with my heart. I could feel the blood pumping throughout my veins. I knew it was wrong. What was I thinking?

   He's my father. I can't do that. No matter how much he's hurt me. I can't do it.

   But that man had ruined my life completely.

   Every night, I go to bed and pray that I will never wake up again. All because of him. The same person I'd looked up to as a kid. The person I wanted to be when I grew up. But now that I'm older, I don't know what I want.

   "You should be grateful that I still keep up with all your nonsense!" He practically shouts in anger.

    He always gets like this when he drinks; it's nothing new. But I was on my last straw this time. I could feel myself slowly breaking.

   "I should've let you die along with your mother that night of the accident." He confesses.

    I stare at his back, trying to figure out what I did to deserve this. I only ever wanted to please him, but nothing was ever enough.

   I feel the tears form in my eyes, but I wouldn't let them escape. He'd call me weak. He'd say I wasn't man enough and needed to grow up.

   I look back at the knives. My heart was pounding so fast I was certain he'd hear it. I slowly reach over the counter and grab the biggest one.

  "Maybe if I never met your mother, I'd never have to deal with you." He continued to talk, making me want to scream.

    I looked at the knife in my hand; my hand was shaking uncontrollably. And I could feel the sweat soaking into my black t-shirt.

    Don't do it. Don't give in.

    I had to give in. It was the only way out. I needed to escape him.

    But he's your dad.

    I need to be free.

     I've been having these thoughts for weeks now. It was eating me inside. I knew something was wrong with me and that I needed help. But no one could save me from my own mind. It was impossible.

      I was like this dark, black cloud that followed me everywhere. It was waiting for me to give in to it. And I tried to fight it, but it was like a hunger inside me; it was neverending. But now I have a chance to end it. Altogether.

   "I should have sent you off somewhere when I had the chance." He voices before he takes a sip of his drink.

    I get up and make my way around the counter. The tears in my eyes blurred my vision slightly. Once I reached him, I stopped right behind him. I wasn't even sure if I was breathing; I didn't want him to turn around and look at me. If he did, I'd fail.

    And I just wanted to escape.

    I grip the knife with both hands and lift it above my head. I closed my eyes because I wasn't ready to see what would happen next. I quickly drop my arms and let the knife pierce right through my chest.

    I let out my last breath just as he turned around. His face was filled with horror. It almost felt like the whole world was in slow motion. My body felt like it was almost numb, I couldn't feel the pain right away until he drops the cup in his hand. And all I hear is the sound of my scream and the glass shattering all around us.

For once, I saw some emotion other than anger on his face. He looked like he cared. And maybe he did, but it didn't matter to me anymore. It was too late for me to regret anything. Because I didn't. I finally let him see the tears escape my eyes.

   And I escaped along with them.