I felt another blow hit me dead in the face. When I fell to the living room floor, I heard the sickening crack of my arm being crushed underneath my weight. I couldn't get up. I heard my dad grunt in approval and he walked away. Once the front door slammed shut, I rolled into a ball and let the tears fall freely.

The car started from the driveway and drove off into the night. For as long as I could remember, at least sense mom left, my dad was screwed up. He was a heavy alcoholic. What was worse for me was that he would hit and abusive me when I was brave enough to even go home after school. My dad wants his wife back and thinks it was my fault that she left in the first place.

She left because of him.

I sat up and leaned on the living room wall to brace myself. Finding the strength to stand, I got to my feet and walked slowly to the bathroom. I reluctantly looked into the mirror. Looking back at me was a 16-year-old boy with bruises on the right side of his face.

I couldn't go back to school.

They would ask questions, and I can't stand lying to everyone anymore. No matter how much my father hurts me, I could never find the courage to turn him in. I ran my fingers through my sandy blond hair so it wasn't covering my eyes like it did so often. As I was about to do the same to the other side, I cried out in pain. It was my right arm that I landed on earlier. It hurt like hell and I couldn't move my fingers with out blinding pain. I used the other hand to hold it close to my body.

I froze. The idea came into my mind with a hurtful realization.

I had to run away.