Page 76 of Bliss: Part 1
I hated seeing him like that. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He was seventeen. Almost grown. But this shit still cut him down every time. And I knew damn well he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Odin wasn’t mouthy. He didn’t talk back. He kept his head down and tried to stay invisible when Dad got like this. But it didn’t matter. Nothing ever mattered. Our father just needed someone to break, and today it had been him.
I turned to the old man. “Have you been drinking again?”
His face twisted up. “The fuck I have?! How dare you, son?” He jabbed a finger at my chest, like I was the one out of line. “Get the fuck out of my face before I smash yours in.”
I held still. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t back up. But my whole body was tense. My jaw locked, teeth grinding behind my lips.
He meant it. That wasn’t an empty threat. With him, it never was.
I took a shallow breath and glanced back at Odin. “Go to your room.”
He looked up at me with wide, wet eyes. “I won’t leave you alone with him.”
His voice was shaky, but there was this solid edge underneath it, like he was done being pushed around. His cheek was already swelling, and there was a trickle of blood coming from one nostril. It made my stomach turn.
I wanted to kill our father. Truly. I wanted to take him down and never let him get up again. But I couldn’t do that. Not now. Not with Odin in the room. I needed him safe first.
“Odin,” I said, more firmly this time. “Go.”
He hesitated again, but after a second, he nodded. He gave me one last look and then turned and bolted out of the room. I waited until I heard the stairs creak and the bedroom door close.
Good.
Now it was just me and him.
“You don’t get to hit him,” I said. “Doesn’t matter what he said or did. That’s not how this works.”
He rolled his eyes and laughed again. “What are you gonna do, huh? Call the fucking cops on me?”
“Yeah. Actually. That’s exactly what I should do.”
“You go ahead,” he spat. “They won’t do shit. Cops don’t give a fuck about two bratty-ass teenage boys. Especially ones like you. Always looking for trouble, always thinking you’re better than everyone else.”
“They’ll listen,” I said.
His eyes narrowed, and then he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the counter he apparently hadn’t been drinking out of. “Don’t push me, boy.”
“Put that bottle down, Dad.”
I stepped toward him, knowing I was stepping on dangerous ground, but I wasn’t gonna let him drink more. Not after what he’d already done.
I reached out, and he didn’t even hesitate.
He lifted the bottle over his shoulder and smashed it straight into the side of my head.
It exploded on impact, glass shattering, liquid spraying across my face and shoulders. I stumbled but didn’t go down. My hand went to the side of my head instinctively. Hot, sticky liquid ran down behind my ear and down my neck.
I was bleeding.
The sting was unbearable, but I ignored it as best as I could. The pain bloomed sharp and deep, and my vision wavered for a second. But I didn’t cry out or flinch. I stood up straight and kept my eyes locked on him.
He wanted to see me weak, but I wouldn’t give him that.
I clenched my fists at my sides and took a long, slow breath through my nose. I could feel a shard of glass still stuck somewhere above my temple. But I didn’t care.
“You’re a coward,” I hissed, teeth grinding together. “A sick, abusive, motherfucking coward who has never been anything but a burden on this house. You’ve never been a father. Not to me. Not to Odin. And you’re gonna rot in hell for it. I swear to God.”
He launched into another fit, shouting, calling me names, spitting half-sentences in between. I didn’t listen. I turned on my heel and walked out.
