the world

You know what I hate more than anything? Being a teenager. Not just that, but being a small, skinny, faggot of a teenager. It literally sucks ass. I just don’t like not being taken seriously. My age kind of screws me over because this is the age I’m supposed to be living it up, going to parties, drinking, doing drugs, all that shit. They lie to you when they tell you these will be the best years of your life. If these are the best years of my life, then I honestly don’t feel like living past high school.
“Frankie, how many times do I have to tell you to do the fucking dishes?” My dad slams my door into the wall, leaving a small, white scratch.
“I’ll do them now.” I get up from my bed and walk over to where he’s standing. He doesn’t move.
“No. You won’t do them now. You’ll do them when you’re supposed to, which is every day after school.” I fucking hate when he does that shit. He needs to calm down before I rip his fucking hair out.
“Why can’t I just do them now? You’re obviously super upset about not having a clean plate-“
“It’s not about that. It’s about you following the rules.” He stares at me for a while, waiting for a response. He’s not gonna get one. When I first moved in with him, it was probably the hardest thing in the world to glare back at him when he’s glaring at me. Now, after 6 years, I’ve become almost expert at it. In the time span of a second, he quickly slams my door shut, shaking the whole house. I stood there with anger rising into my throat, refusing to let it out of my mouth. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me so fucking angry, but it does.
A long time ago, when we still had a somewhat good relationship, I didn’t know how to respond when he got angry at me. I would kinda just sit there and let him yell. When I was about 14 years old, I decided that I was old enough to have my own opinion, and old enough to have a voice. One day, my dad came home from work and called me into the living room. I don’t even remember what he was yelling at me about, but I knew I was done. I stood up to him for the first time by screaming back, and his response? He threw a fucking plate at my head. Hurt like hell, too. I quickly sat on the couch with my arms covering my head, saying, “sorry, sorry sorry-” over and over, hoping he wouldn’t do it again. He didn’t that day, but then another day came, and another. Over time, I learned to block out all the madness in my home, and focus on what was going on outside of it. Every day, I would go on a walk to the park and swing while listening to music. Sometimes, I would walk around the whole neighborhood, watching the sun go down. We live on top of this huge hill surrounded by trees, but at the very top, there’s this huge opening that reveals the city below it. It’s pretty beautiful at night, but I can’t stay out past sunset. Sometimes, I’ll sneak out, and go out and just watch. It’s pretty beautiful.
I’m still standing in the same spot my dad left me in, reminiscing the old days, wishing I was still in them. I haven’t snuck out in a while, but I definitely want to tonight. School and home are the two places I don’t want to be, and yet, they’re the two places I ever go. I turn around to grab my phone off of my bed, and walk over to my window, unlocking it. I pull it up ever so slightly, and almost immediately, it makes the loudest screeching sound I’ve ever heard. I run over to my bed and jump on it, listening to my dad walk down the hallway to my door. He opens the door really slowly, trying to catch me doing something I’m not supposed to.
“what do you want?” I ask, obviously annoyed.
He stood there for a moment, not looking at me.
“what?!” I ask again.
He pulls the door shut, but I don’t hear him walk away. I stand up slowly, making sure he can’t hear me, and tip toe to the door. I put my face close to the door, stand there for about 10 seconds, then scream, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” I’m so loud that I make myself jump a little. I hear him back up to against the wall, then quickly walk down the hallway. Silently laughing, I fall back onto my bed, picking my phone back up. 9:45. He should be going to sleep soon. I walk over to my window, putting my hands through the small opening that I made. It’s cold as shit. Probably because it’s the middle of January. I grab the bottom of the window, and pull up. It makes the same sound, but not as loud. When it’s all the way up, I pull the curtains over it, not letting the cold air in. I sit down on my floor and put my old rugged shoes on, pulling the strings as tight as they can get. I don’t know why, but shoes that fit tight make me feel all awesome and stuff, like I could run a marathon nonstop. When they fit how I like, I grab my gray gloves and my coat, and put them on. I have a gigantic ass coat from Hollister that I’ve had since I was 14, and it always keeps me warm. When I have it fully buttoned, I grab my phone and my headphones, and walk over to the window. I have absolutely no idea how I’m gonna pull this off without getting caught, but what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like I’m scared of him anymore. I throw one leg over the bottom of the window, and lean outside. The distance to the ground isn’t that bad, but I know that being the clumsy person that I am, I’ll probably fall on my ass. I pull my leg over with my other, and continue to look down. With one motion, I jump, landing on my feet, but making a loud noise as I fall back and hit the side of the house.
“fuck…” I say quietly, hoping he didn’t hear me. I stand back up, and listen intently. For a couple of seconds, I hear nothing, but then I hear my door swing open and bang against the wall. I panic for a second, but as soon as I hear him yelling, I run as fast as I can.

Notes

I didn't revise, I didn't go back and edit. I honestly don't want to care that much. I just want to come here, write, post, and go on with my day. this is my outlet :)
btw, the father in my stories with probably always be abusive. sorry.