I Voluntarily Faced My Abusive Father

My dad was a violent drunk. Every time he went off the deep end, his fists would find my little brother and me. When the dust settled, hed always toss a few crumpled bills my way as a twisted apology. I took the cash without a word. I even used it to buy his favorite greasy pork ribs and the cheap, burning moonshine he loved. The neighbors tried to call the cops for us, but I always shook my head, rubbing my bruised arms with a quiet, knowing smile.

If he beats me, Bobby gets a break.

But that was before the night he lost his mind completely and pushed Bobby off the edge of that unfinished high-rise at the construction site.

Frank's backhand caught me hard across the jaw. I heard the sickening crack of my teeth colliding, and my cheek instantly flared like it was on fire. The taste of copper flooded my mouth.

A crumpled fifty-dollar bill fluttered down, landing near my boots.

"Take it! Pick it up, you useless brat!"

"Consider it a tip from your old man. Go get yourself something to patch that ugly face of yours!"

Frank's neck was thick and flushed red, his chest heaving as he spat the words, spraying warm saliva all over my face.

I said nothing. I just knelt down, using my swollen, throbbing fingers to pry the bill off the dusty floorboards. It was stained with a mixture of my blood and Bobby's.

But I knew money was the only way out.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my sleeve, slowly lifting my eyes to stare at him.

"What are you looking at? Keep staring like that and I'll gouge those eyes out and pickle them in a jar!"

"Get the hell out of here and buy me my liquor!"

He roared, slumping his heavy frame into the creaking, stained armchair. The worn leather groaned under his weight.

In the dark corner of the kitchen, Bobby was curled up behind the rusty stove, trembling. His skinny arms were swollen, covered in angry red and purple welts from the leather belt.

I walked over and knelt beside him, gently touching his burning skin with my cold fingers.

He flinched, looking up at me with eyes filled with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Nora... it hurts..." he whimpered.

"Bite your tongue," I whispered directly into his ear, my voice entirely devoid of warmth. "It's almost over."

I stood up, clutching the fifty dollars tightly in my fist, and stepped out into the howling, dusty wind.

The cheap liquor store down the road smelled of stale beer and old cardboard. I slapped the bills onto the counter.

"Ten pints of your strongest moonshine, Mr. Higgins," I said. "The kind that burns right through your stomach."

Higgins looked at the fresh bruise blooming on my cheek and sighed. "Oh, Nora, sweetheart... why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"He beats you half to death, and you still run errands for him?"

A regular sitting near the door, nursing a cheap beer, chimed in. "Frank's a damn animal. If I were you, kid, I'd have slipped some rat poison into his glass a long time ago."

I ignored them, my face a blank mask as I watched the clerk pour the cloudy, amber liquid into a plastic jug.

Next door, I bought two pounds of thick, fatty pork belly, dripping with grease.

By the time I got back to the trailer, Frank was passed out on the table, his snores rattling the thin windowpanes.

I slammed the heavy jug onto the wood.

The thud startled him awake. He bolted upright, blinking wildly.

"My drink! Where's my damn drink!"

"Did you steal a sip of it, you little thief?"

He snatched the jug, ripped the cap off with his teeth, and guzzled it down. The cloudy liquor spilled down his stubble, soaking his dirty undershirt.

"Here's the pork, Dad. Eat it while it's hot," I said, my voice dripping with sweet obedience. "Nice and greasy, just the way you like it."

I pushed the plate toward him. He grabbed a handful of the glistening fat, shoving it into his mouth, grease smearing across his chin.

"Yeah... Nora's a good girl... not like that worthless brother of yours..."

"That kid is a curse... a goddamn curse..."

Suddenly, he stopped, raised his calloused hand, and delivered a violent slap to his own face. The sharp crack echoed through the cramped room, making Bobby flinch in his corner.

"I didn't have a choice... I really didn't..."

He broke down, sobbing hysterically, snot and tears mixing with the grease on his face.

I stood in the shadows, watching him with cold, calculating eyes.

I reached into my pocket and touched a neatly folded piece of paper, the accidental death insurance policy.

Under the dim, flickering light bulb, I mentally counted down the days until it took effect.

Just three more days.

If I could survive three more days, his miserable life would finally be worth something.

Once Frank finished crying, he took another massive swig of the moonshine and exhaled a hot, boozy breath right into my face.

"Drink up, Nora... take a sip... it makes the pain go away..."

"Drink it, and you'll see your mother again..."

He shoved the jug toward me, his bloodshot eyes boring into mine.

I stared at the thick vein pulsing erratically on his neck. I wondered how many more times that vein would beat before it went still forever.

"I'm fine, Dad. I don't hurt," I said softly.

Inside the damp, sweltering trailer, the air was heavy with the stench of sweat and cheap alcohol. I quietly rubbed soothing liniment onto Bobbys back. With every touch, his muscles tensed, but he bit his lip, refusing to make a sound.

"Nora, I want to kill him."

Bobby spoke suddenly, his voice chillingly flat.

My hand froze. A drop of the dark red liniment fell onto the worn mattress, blooming like a fresh drop of blood.

"Shut your mouth," I hissed, keeping my voice low. "You go to prison for murder. We are going to survive this, Bobby. We have to live."

"Then how much longer?" He turned his head, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

"Soon." I pulled his shirt down, covering the raw welts. "Just wait for the date. Once it comes, were free."

Outside, Franks booming voice carried through the thin walls as he bragged to his drinking buddies.

"I'm telling you, having a daughter is like sitting on a goldmine! When she's old enough, I'll marry her off to the highest bidder. Twenty grand, minimum!"

"Quit dreaming, Frank. That girl of yours is as skinny as a stray cat. Whod pay for that?"

"Shut your mouth! She's delicate, that's what! Besides, she's obedient. She does exactly what I tell her to do!"

A chorus of crude laughter echoed outside. My chest remained completely hollow. No anger, no sadness. Just empty.

At dinner, I took a bottle of his blood pressure medication and slipped in a few crushed tablets of Disulfiram, a severe alcohol-deterrent drug. I'd read about it online. On its own, it was harmless, but when mixed with alcohol, it triggered violent, terrifying psychotic episodes within minutes.

Frank didn't suspect a thing. He tossed the pills into his mouth and washed them down with a heavy swig of moonshine.

"Why's this stuff taste so bitter?" He grimaced, wiping his mouth.

"It's the new imported stuff, Dad. It's supposed to work better," I lied without blinking.

A few minutes later, the reaction hit.

Frank became wildly erratic. He started pacing the trailer, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"Ghosts! There are goddamn ghosts in here! She's back!"

"She's come to drag me to hell!"

He screamed, pointing his empty jug at the empty corner, swinging it wildly.

Bobby and I huddled together on the mattress, watching him lose his mind. The drug was working perfectly.

The next morning, Bill, a local subcontractor who doubled as a sleazy matchmaker, knocked on our door.

"Listen, Frank, Nora is getting older," Bill said, leaning against the doorframe. "Lame Pete down the road is willing to pay five thousand dollars cash for her..."

The shirt I was washing slipped from my hands.

But to my surprise, Frank flew into a violent rage. He grabbed Bill's bottle of whiskey and smashed it on the floor.

"Get the hell out of here, you old leech!"

"Who said I'm selling my girl? She's going to college!"

He grabbed a rusted shovel and swung it at Bill's head. Bill scrambled out of the trailer, cursing and running for his life.

I stood frozen, staring at my father.

Late that night, a strange, metallic scraping sound woke me.

Bobby was sitting upright at the edge of the mattress. Under the pale moonlight, he was holding a pair of rusted sewing shears, tracing the air right behind Franks sleeping head.

I lunged forward, ripping the shears from his hands and covering his mouth.

"Are you insane? We agreed I would handle this!" I whispered fiercely.

Bobby looked at me, his eyes filling with a strange, childlike hurt.

"Nora, I don't want to wait anymore. What if he sells you? I don't want to be left alone."

I pulled his frail body into a tight hug, my tears finally spilling over. "He won't. I will never leave you, Bobby. I promise."

The next afternoon, Frank woke up sober. He sat on the edge of his creaking bed, staring at an old, faded photograph of Bobby and me. We were laughing in the picture, back when Mom was still alive.

A heavy tear fell onto the plastic frame, right over Mom's face.

"Nora... look after your brother... I'm a piece of garbage..."

"I'm so sorry..." he muttered, his voice cracked and hollow.

I stood by the doorway, listening to his pathetic confession, my mind entirely focused on the poisoned liquor waiting in the cupboard.

The sky outside turned a bruised, heavy purple as a storm rolled in.

Up on the construction site, the wind howled through the skeletal steel structures. The thirty-story unfinished building had nothing but a few loose metal pipes acting as a guardrail.

Frank was on the night shift, guarding the materials on the roof.

Using the excuse of bringing him dinner, I slipped past the broken security cameras with Bobby in tow.

By the time we climbed thirty flights of stairs, my legs were shaking violently.

"Nora, this is it," Bobby whispered, pointing to the loose guardrail at the edge of the abyss.

He reached into his backpack and handed me a heavy wrench.

"Do it, Nora. Just loosen it a couple of turns."

"Nobody will ever know. It'll look like a tragic accident."

I took the wrench, my palms slick with sweat. I knelt on the cold concrete, forcing the wrench onto the rusted bolt holding the guardrail together.

The metal was seized. I pulled so hard my fingernail cracked, a thin line of blood oozing onto the gray steel.

"Let me do it," Bobby said, pushing me aside. He wedged a small pry bar into the joint.

With a sharp metallic pop, the weak weld snapped. The guardrail wobbled slightly.

Then, we smeared a thick layer of discarded motor oil over the concrete near the edge.

Bobby looked at our trap, a quiet, eerie smile spreading across his face.

We packed up our tools, ready to slip away unnoticed.

But as we reached the stairwell of the second floor, a dry cough echoed from the shadows.

"Who's there? Trying to steal my steel, you rats?"

"Stop right there!"

It was Frank.

I grabbed Bobby's hand, ready to bolt.

"Nora? Bobby? What the hell are you two doing here?"

Frank stepped out of the darkness, shining a flashlight directly into our faces.

The blinding light made me wince. I instinctively shifted my weight to hide the backpack behind my frame.

"Dad... I... it looked like it was going to pour, so we brought you a thick jacket," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Frank eyed us suspiciously, his flashlight lingering on our mud-caked boots.

"Why didn't you call me first?"

"This place is a death trap at night. You could have broken your necks!"

He muttered a curse, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small plastic bottle, shoving it into my hands.

"Take this. It's calcium vitamins for the kid. He's too damn small for his age."

I squeezed the plastic bottle, still warm from his body heat.

"Thanks, Dad. Just... be careful up there. The wind is bad."

"Don't drink too much."

"Yeah, yeah. Get the hell home and do your homework! You're both a pain in my ass!"

He waved us off, turning to make the long climb up the stairs. His back looked so bent, so fragile in the dark.

I watched him go, the heavy wrench in my backpack pressing hard against my spine.

At midnight, the storm hit with full force. Lightning fractured the sky, and thunder drowned out the world.

Bobby and I, wrapped in dark raincoats, made our way back up to the roof.

Inside the makeshift guard shack, Frank was sitting near the edge, a bottle in hand.

It was the bottle of moonshine I had heavily spiked with Disulfiram. The burning, cheap alcohol had completely masked the bitter drug.

He had drunk nearly the entire bottle. His eyes were bulging, his face twisted in a manic frenzy.

"Drink! Everybody drinks!"

"Just you and me tonight, sweetheart! Let's drink to the end!"

Seeing us walk in, he slammed the bottle onto the table.

"Nora! Bobby! Perfect timing!"

"Look! Your mother is here to take us home! She's flying up there!"

He pointed a trembling finger into the dark, stormy sky, his face contorted in a grotesque grin.

Suddenly, his expression shifted, turning dark and feral.

"Wait... no! You cheating whore! Who is that man with you?"

"You brought your lover to my house?"

He grabbed a wooden stool and smashed it against the empty air. Splinters flew everywhere. He spun around, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Bobby.

"It's you! You little bastard!"

"You ruined her! You're not my son, you're the product of her filthy secrets! You're trying to destroy me, aren't you?"

He lunged forward, clutching a broken wooden leg from the stool.

"Run, Bobby! Run!" I screamed, shoving my brother toward the edge of the platform.

Bobby shrieked, stumbling backward in the mud and rain.

"I'm cleansing this house tonight!" Frank roared, chasing after him. "Both of you are going to burn!"

Bobby slipped near the loosened guardrail, his feet sliding on the motor oil. He fell backward, his lower half dangling over the thirty-story drop.

"Help! Nora, help me!" Bobby screamed.

Frank reached the edge, his manic rage instantly freezing into pure horror as he saw Bobby slipping.

"Bobby!"

Frank bellowed, dropping the wooden club and lunging forward without a second thought.

He grabbed Bobby by the collar, throwing his entire weight backward to pull his son up.

But the guardrail couldn't hold them both.

The metal pipe tore free with a violent snap.

Frank lost his footing, his body rolling over the slick concrete and slipping over the edge.

But the momentum of his desperate pull threw Bobby forward, back onto the safe concrete of the roof.

Bobby lay there, panting, his eyes incredibly cold and calm.

Frank, however, hadn't fallen yet. He was dangling from the edge, his thick, calloused fingers desperately gripping a rusted rebar hook.

The torrential rain beat down on his face.

"Nora... save me... pull me up..."

"Please, Nora..."

He saw me walking toward the edge, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in his eyes.

I knelt on the wet concrete, looking down at him. Rainwater ran down my hair, stinging my eyes.

I slowly reached out, placing my hands over his trembling fingers.

"Dad, didn't you say living was too hard anyway?" I whispered.

Frank froze, his eyes widening. "Nora... what are you doing... I'm your father..."

"I'm your dad..."

"I know," I said, a faint smile breaking across my face. "That's why I'm sending you to Mom. She's been waiting for you."

I began to pry his fingers away from the steel, one by one.

But just before his grip broke, a sudden, ice-cold shiver ran down my spine.

Through the heavy curtain of rain behind me, I heard a sound. A tiny, faint footstep.

Franks eyes bypassed me, staring directly into the shadows over my shoulder, his face contorted in absolute terror.

"Run!" he screamed.

The next second, before I could even push him, he let go of the rebar himself.