"Why are you just sitting there?"
"Get the fuck up and and move!"
"Your to slow! Move your fucking ass!'
"Don't give me that look! I'll wipe it off your smug little face!"
Pain, the crashing of hard knuckles driven by a machinists forearms. Blood. The screaming of your mother, wishing she would just shut the fuck up and let it happen. It will end faster if she stays out of it. If she just for once stayed out of it. He grabs you by your ear and there is a sudden sharp throbbing and more blood as he rips out the new silver stud in your earlobe. He knee drives into your stomach and air flee's your lungs, that vortex of nausea filling you as you fall to your knees.
You know there are not that many days until you can bail, so you bite your lip, swallow your pain and hide your sorrow. But he keeps pushing, harder and harder each day because he knows it as well. Each day it gets a bit worse until one day you are sure he is going to kill you. So you stand up to him, and he swings. You take it and you stare at him with a cold murderous rage in his eyes. You don't make a sound, you don't blink you just hide the throbbing of your jaw and you stare. He hugs you for it, and tells you he is proud...You are disgusted and realize for the first time, that you are not him.