One bad day. All it takes is one bad day to go insane. Mine happened years ago but I'm still here and sane. Shit man. I'm 14, I'm supposed to be getting into trouble for drinking a little bit of alcohol, not standing outside of my own room as my mother goes at it with someone who isn't my dad. In. My. Own room. That happened when I was 9 by the way. Yay! Trauma for life, whoop-dee-fuckin'-doo.
Lately I've been thinking about my name. Achilles. That's what my parents named me when I was born. 14 years man, that went by quick. You know when people tell you to enjoy your younger years? Yeah, I couldn't do that. Not when I had an abusive drunk for a father and an absentee mother (Yeah, she left us after she got caught). It was bad but honestly. It could've been so much worse. I could have been an orphan out on the streets, a prostitute for all the fuckin' sickos to doll out their demented perverted fantasies on me. Instead, I'm stuck with Dad. With my bastard of a father. He wasn't always like this y'know but after what mom did, I think he broke.
Right now I'm in my room, trying not to freak out again for one reason. I. Got. Powers. HAH, suck my nuts Daniel, who's the man now? That's right, I am. Bitch. I'm still trying to figure out how to turn it on and off properly, if it even has an off button but it seems to be a work in progress.
"Boy, get me another beer!"
And that would be dad calling me right now. Asshole, would a please kill you? Well, I can always write in here later.
"YEAH, I'M COMING!" I shouted back, more than a little irritated that I can't write down my shit. Going downstairs, I went into the kitchen opened the fridge got the beer and gave it to him. Fuckin' degenerate.
And like always, he skulled it immediately and tried to get it into the bin from the couch he was sitting on. He obviously missed with being drunk and all. Anthony Jones. That was his name, you seeing a pattern here? AJ - Anthony Jones. AJ - Achilles Jones. I mean come on, Jones? Why did I have to have such a basic last name with such a badass first one? Like, how does that work...
You got an enemy for life for that dad. Mark my words.
"Wheerrre do you think you're goin' boyyy?" And the lightweight's already slurring his words. Great.
"My room." Where do you think I'm going, to see a mistress? Hold up... can I do tha-- no, no. Naughty thoughts begone, I am a pure boy. Pure enough that catholic pastor or priests or popes would want to corrupt me.
Nonce's, the lot of them.
Going up the stairs, I stop as I hear him move off the couch. Great, here comes the daily dose of fatherly love. Bracing myself, I try to limit the damage I take as he pulls me down the flight of stairs roughly. "What the FUCK old man?! What's your damn problem?"
That hurt like a bitch—
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING TALKING TO BITCH!" His fist struck my face, again and again. I was weak, frail and... you know what— don't be an idiot, Arden. No. No fuck that. It's about damn time this cunt gets a taste of his own medicine.
No more excuses. No more whining about how unfair this— everything is. You want to change it? You gotta do it yourself. Stop being a pussy and do it. Just do it.
Waiting for when he needs to catch his breath is when I strike. Grabbing a hold of a vase that fell to the floor with me, I bash it over his head stunning him. "How do you like that asshole!" I got up from the ground and hit him. Again and again, I bashed his head in. After the vase broke, I stopped and just stood over him.
I don't know how long I just stood there but it was long enough for him to slowly get up. And fall back down immediately. "Dad...? You... still alive?" He groaned so softly that I could barely hear him. Thank you, Jesus! He's alive, I'm not going to jail.
A knock on the door got my attention. Shit... looking back-and-forth between dad and the door I made a choice. Moving the deadbeat out of sight, I opened up the door to see some police officers. Right, Neighbours, disturbance, and here're the PoPo. "Hi Officers, is there something I can do for you?"
They looked me up and down. Probably wondering why a kid's coming to the door instead of a parent. Come on, be the ignorant type and just go 'cause I really don't want to explain why the neighbors heard whatever they heard. Or that dads 'conked' out in the living room.
"We got a call about a noise complaint. You know anything 'bout that kiddo?" Ok... I can work with that.
"Yeah, about that," I chuckled nervously, wasn't even hard to fake. "Dad gets a bit... excited when he watches football... and combine that with a bit of booze, he gets a little much. I'm sorry for the disturbance but we're good."
"Hmmm." One of them hummed and looked into the house through the gap in the door. "Well... alright, you have a good night then kid." They got off the from the steps that led up to the door, walked across the little yard we had out front that experienced a few years of neglect, got into their car and drove off.
I had never closed a door and dropped to the ground so quick in my life before. Phew, success. And here I thought I was done for. Stupid cops, I'm the greatest— Woah, ok enough meat riding.
Get your shit together. You gotta put dad somewhere he won't find sus when he wakes u— Idea! Going to the drunk, I grabbed him by the boots and dragged him onto the couch, cleaned up his wounds with a rag, chucked another cold one in his hand.
Looking at him I stop... and scrap my previous plan. Let's just leave him on the ground, ass beat and humiliated by aa scrawny 14-year-old. Heh.
Plan successful, but as I look for anything that was broken, I spot the beer bottle he had in his hand on the ground smashed. Probably dropped it trying to grab me... aw well, guess I'll just have to clean it up in the morning. Yep, this seems like a future Achilles problem.
I finally go back upstairs and back into my room. Now back to more important things.
Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was saying something about powers. So far, I can move stuff around that's got metal in it... a little shit but I still got powers. In hindsight, metal's all around the world. Just got to figure out how to use it properly.
The 'circumstances' under which I got my powers was hardly special I just got them one day. No warning. No heads up. I was sitting in bed at night, and I just lit up my room.
No rhyme or reason but I'm not about to start complaining like an ungrateful child. Anyway I need to get some shut eye.
Tapping the pen against my chin I sit there in my room just blanking. Sighing, I just put my little diary away someplace safe and get into bed and try to sleep. Try being the keyword. Haah, I need some music to fall asleep to bro.
-The Next Day-
Update time: Dads up and awake thankfully.
I did not want to see if I had what it took to make it out on the streets if I did kill him, let alone trying to hide his body in the backyard... or rather pieces of him. Don't know how I would've done that, but we move.
Going into the kitchen I put on a pot of coffee. After wandering around the kitchen bench for, I don't know 30 seconds, I remember that I gotta clean up the mess Dad made last night. Getting a rag, I pick up the pieces of the broken vase and dump that shit in the trash.
Getting my coffee, I sip and smack my lips. Hah, that's the shit. "Mmmmnnhh..." Dad's groaning makes me look at him... like really look at him. 5'9", short scraggly beard, brown eyes... a kind face that you wouldn't expect to see angry or sad. Or in my case yelling about how I'm probably not his kid.
I mean would he be wrong? Am I the product of an adulterous love affair... if so, I want my fucking child support. Cunt's gotta pay up.
Anyway, back to the situation at hand, " Oi, ya bum. If you ever try that shit with me again, I'll fucking kill you." He just looked at me with disdain in his eyes, but I continued. "Nah, I ain't playing. I mean it... you try to go to the cops with how I 'hurt' you, I'll just show them all you've done to me. Besides, who do you think their gonna believe? You; the drunk who abuses his kid, whose wife left him to go fuck some other guys, a deabeat or me; the poor defenseless malnourished boy that you beat on a near daily basis." I exhaled, anger bubbling in my gut. The angrier I got, the more I felt a pull towards me.
"Shut up boy, you have no idea what you're talking about. 'Sides you don't have the balls to do it. Because you know that as bad as I can be, the streets of Gotham are so much fuckin' worse for you."
"And I don't care. If it means you're in prison taking it up ass and miserable, I'll be just fine."
I knew he knew what he tried to do last night and the bruises on my face were obviously going to draw attention at school. That was going to be fun. Snorting in derision, I went back up to my room coffee in hand and got ready for school.
Chucking on the blazer, I look in the mirror at all my glory (I love being delusional). 5'5", skinny to the bone and nearly whiter than paper. Brown hair and dark blue eyes. But I looked better than Dad so that's a plus.
Yep, twas official... I looked like a twat. I mean seriously I look like something that would attract pedos. Stupid Gotham Academy and its stupid rules. I honestly have no idea how I managed to get in; we weren't exactly poor, but we were by no means rich enough to pay for this school. Though I suspect it has something to do with Mom's... extracurriculars.
Blegh, naughty thoughts begone. Purge please brain. Did... pervy things to get me into school but couldn't take me away from an abuser. I really hope you had a good reason for that Mom. Putting the books I needed in my bag, I set off to the most dreadful place I knew... School. Gives me the shivers.
The streets of Gotham were as packed as always. It made getting to the train an annoyance. But I got there eventually with... pulling out my phone, I check the time, 20 minutes before classes started. Shit this is gonna be cutting it close.
...Nah, should be fine.
***
Running down the street, checking the time he cursed. He wasn't going to make it in time for classes and was going to be late. "Shit! Stupid fuckin' mugger, trying to make me late for school. If i ever see that idiot again he'll cop it."
The 'incident' Achilles was rambling about happened ten minutes before he was sprinting through the streets. Being grabbed by some asshole and held at gunpoint for cash was not how he saw his Monday morning going. Even less so when he took out the firing pin with his powers and ran like hell was on his ass.
"I'm so cooked." He lamented his situation like it was nothing but an inconvenience. Finally arriving at school, he dragged his feet to the head office, gave an excuse about why he was late and headed to class.
The silence was deafening when he entered the classroom and went to his desk. He could feel their gaze's going straight to his bruised face from the night before. It made his skin itch. This was going to be a long day, wasn't it?
Mr. Clark was up front as always in his chair, three or four students up there with him. It was the same as any day, everyone on their phones despite the no phone rule. Clark was such a good teacher and in Achilles' mind he was one of his favorite teachers. And nearly everyone who had him as a teacher.
The bell rang out and a headache hit Achilles. 'Right, metal powers... how does that even work? Do I get some feedback every time something like this happens?' He thought.
"Alright guys, bells gone. Sit down." He said, his Candian accent made him sound more approachable.
Class was in session.