Son. The word is acid on my tongue. This man has never been a father to me—just a nightmare wearing the mask of family.

"You fucking heard me."

A smirk twists his features. "Well, would you look at that? Did you finally decide to grow a pair?" He steps away from Mom, whose trembling form is pressed against the wall. Blood trickles from her split lip, and something inside me fractures at the sight.

His bloodshot eyes bore into mine. "Look me in the eyes and say what it is you need to say. Like a real man."

"Fuck. You. Dad."

The words barely leave my mouth before his fist connects with my jaw. Pain explodes across my face, the taste of blood flooding my mouth—metallic and bitter, a familiar flavor I've grown to hate.

"Scott! Stop! Please, I'm begging you!" Mom's cries echo in the background, but they're drowned out by the thundering in my skull.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each impact of his fist sends shockwaves through my head.

Once, twice, three times.

I don't have anything left to fight back with. Even if I did, what's the point? The punches would keep coming anyway.

One more hit.

Just end it.

Please.

Just fucking end it so it stops.

His attention snaps back to her, his voice pure poison. "This is all your fucking fault to begin with."

Then his hand wraps around my throat, squeezing just enough to remind me who holds the power. "And you—if you ever dare speak to me like that again, it won't end well for you. You hear me?"

"Go to Hell," I spit through blood-stained teeth.

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement—Mom, trembling but determined, a kitchen knife clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

What the fuck is she doing?

"Get away from him now, Scott." Her voice shakes, but there's steel underneath.

The sight of her standing there, weaponized desperation in her hands, sends ice through my veins. He's not in his right mind. He's going to kill her.

The instant his grip loosens on my throat, I explode into action. We crash to the ground together, and my fist finds his face. Something snaps—his nose or my hand, I'm not sure which. Pain shoots up my arm, but adrenaline drowns it out. If I don't stop him now, he'll go after her next.

"Nate, stop. Please."

Her voice cuts through the haze of violence, and something in my chest splinters. Why does she keep defending him? Why does she always choose his side? Why does she stay after every nightmare he puts us through?

"I fucking hate you." The words taste like truth and shame.

"You're just like your mother." His hand finds my throat again, and suddenly I'm on my back, the full weight of the devil himself crushing the air from my lungs. "Weak."