Merry Christmas

Dad came home on Christmas Eve. We hadn’t seen him for a week, but that wasn’t so strange. Neither was the fact that he was pissed again. He was always disappearing for a few days and then coming home completely out of it. I don’t know why Mum put up with it for so damn long.
He stumbled in to the sitting room, where I was watching a horror film about a group of kids about my age getting slaughtered by a masked maniac, and slumped down on the sofa next to me.
“Go and get your old man a drink, Son,” he slurred at me “I’m dying of thirst here.”
Without a word I got up and went to the kitchen. I didn’t dare disobey, not after the last time when I had been thirteen; I’d spent six weeks in hospital. I remember Mum telling the Doctor I had fallen out of the window; we live on the fifteenth floor so it was possible I could be so badly injured from a fall like that. Then she made me promise not to tell them the truth. I only agreed because I didn’t want the bastard to hurt her.
While I was in the kitchen I heard him shouting for my Mum.
“Laura, get your arse in here,” He bellowed.
I heard Mum running in from the bedroom where she had been sleeping.
“Yes dear?” She asked, trying not to sound scared.
“The boy’s gone to get me a drink, and after that we’re going in the bedroom!”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” she asked as I came back into the room.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, bitch,” he growled. Snatching the can from my hand, he pulled it open and drank it all in one go “I needed that.” He said, burping loudly. He then stood up and grabbed Mum by the wrist, dragging her towards the bedroom.
“Please, Michael,” Mum begged “I think you should get some sleep, wait until you’ve sobered up a bit.”
Without a warning the shithead swung round and punched Mum in the face, knocking her to the floor. While she was down he began kicking her in the stomach, his face contorted with rage. I was screaming at him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. I could hear my screams and shouts mingling with the screams and shouts of the horror film I had been watching, making the whole incident slightly surreal, while at the same time it made me feel an even stronger urgency to make him stop. He kicked her four or five times, and then he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet, pulling her up until her face was level with his, the pain and shock on her face was made evident by the wideness of her eyes.
“You listen to me you whore,” he hissed as she wept “I’m your fucking husband, which means I’ve got rights!” He let go of her hair and began to tear at her pyjamas, when she tried to stop him he punched her in the face again, this time knocking her in to the Christmas tree, sending it and the presents sprawling across the room.
Shakily Mum got to her feet whimpering, blood pouring from her broken nose and mouth, the tattered remains of her pyjamas hardly covering her at all. She didn’t say anything, she just stood there trying to use the remains of her pyjamas to cover herself, waiting for that so-called man to grab her. Her heavy breathing caused blood bubbles to burst from her nose like violent volcanic eruptions and she had strings of saliva hanging from her mouth. As she waited she wiped a hand across her face, smearing the blood and spit across her cheek, her hand came away stained with blood and gore.
She didn’t have to wait long, with a roar he lurched across the room and grabbed her by the hair again, this time pulling her along by it until he got her in the bedroom.
I heard the bedroom door slam shut. I could hear her pleas, hear her begging him not to do it. I felt sick and my blood began to boil at the thought of what the bastard was doing to her in there. It had been going on for years, of course, but it was only recently I had realised he was raping her!
Suddenly the begging from the bedroom stopped, and soon I heard the rapist snoring, mixed in with the sound of Mum sobbing uncontrollably, she was gasping for air in between great wracking sobs. Hesitantly I tip-toed in to the bedroom, I saw my mum lying curled up in a ball on the edge of the bed, her eyes were red and bloodshot from crying, her skin was pale and grey, and she still had dried blood smeared around her nose and mouth. I put my arms around her, she stiffened slightly at my touch before hugging me back. Seeing her lying like that made the anger inside me swell and I felt like I was about to explode! She was my Mum, nobody should be able to do these things to her. Something inside me snapped and I decided enough was enough! The evil shit wasn’t going to hurt her anymore!
“Everything’s going to be all right, Mum.” I whispered. She tried to smile and brushed her hand on my cheek.
“Such a sweet boy,” she sobbed “The only good thing to come out of this marriage.”
“Everything’s going to be all right,” I said standing up “You’ll see.” I went into the kitchen and grabbed the carving knife. Slowly I made my way back in to the bedroom, the knife hidden behind my back.
Mum was sitting up when I got back to the bedroom, trying to brush her hair back into place. She looked at me with a quizzical expression as I made my way around the bed.
“Tommy?” she asked “What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer, I just crept closer to the side of the bed that complete fucking arse-hole was sleeping on. His snoring was starting to get on my nerves, it was just one more thing that made me hate him. I was standing next to him, looking down on his sleeping form.
“Tommy?” I barely heard Mum through the blood rushing through my ears.
Then I pulled the knife out from behind my back. I heard Mum gasp in shock.
“TOMMY, NO!” I heard her scream. Her face became a mask of fear as she realised what I was going to do and her hand flew to her mouth, but she made no attempt to stop me.
The man who was supposed to be my role-model in life opened his eyes, just in time to see me stab the knife down towards him. His eyes opened wide with shock, but he was too drunk to react quickly enough.
Before either he or Mum could move I plunged the knife into his throat. Blood began to pour from the wound. I let go of the knife and staggered back, suddenly aware of what I had done. I had set us free from the man who had tormented me and Mum for years, but I had also killed my Dad!
As I watched a pool of blood began to collect around the body, staining the bedclothes with its crimson flow which then dripped onto the carpet below, I began to sweat violently and shiver simultaneously from the sight of it, and I only had one thought running through my head.
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!