I slouched down in my chair, losing my appetite of Pizza Rolls to the constant snorting of cocaine from the other side of the table. I shook my head in disgust at the white powder, and stood to take care of my plate. Brad snorted more, then sat back in a delirious sigh as a rich stream of blood dripped from his nose. With hope, he’d stop taking the crap and pass out for a while so I could grab any savings and take off with my friend James.

My name’s Chuck. My friend Thomas nicknamed me ‘ChuckleBerry’ for the often and never-well-timed use of sarcastic behavior, which I never really understood. I call my dad by his actual name, Brad. He isn’t anyone I’d dare to call father. He’s nothing but a sperm donor used to create me; at least he that’s what he became after mom died a few years ago. Now his life only consists of drug dealers and their newest products used to try to forget the experience of his wife’s fight through cancer. Took a few years for her to pass, and despite her final comforts, I was never so confident of her survival.

Brad grinned happily, lazing in the chair and staring up at the ceiling. His dilated brown eyes sparkled in the overhead light. I sighed, taking care of his full plate as well. I might as well do something nice before I abandon this helpless addict. He snorted another line, like a vacuum that would never power off. I ignored him as he quickly took out a razor, slicing more of the stuff onto the table as the runoff from his nose dripped carelessly into his gaping mouth. It was putrid just to look at him, dark red hives spotting his red, stoned face.

I turned on the Ps2 and TV, ejecting ‘Killzor 3: Return to the Shadelands’ and put in ‘Groundbase: The New Codes’. I tried to ignore Dad as laughed in his own daydream, but kept the volume low so maybe it would convince him to sleep. A few hours passed, but during that time Brad had snorted at least ten more strips and lazed in his chair. He had stopped the snorting, finally, but I knew very well never to touch it. Last time I tried to take it to throw it away, he yelled and almost broke my arm as he tried to rip his precious out of my hands. Even after I let go, he was still screaming, and gave me a black eye before going back to enjoying his treasure.

Brad sat in his chair the next ten minutes, and I knew it wasn’t long until his buzz would run out, and the snorting and nosebleeds would begin again. Luckily, he had begun to doze in the chair, which was a good sign that he wouldn’t notice my escape. With that in mind, I kept the TV running, the deep shouts and electric guitar of Groundbase’s theme filling the room. Moving slowly, I stepped across the wood flooring, avoiding any boards that I knew would creak and holding my breath. A small board croaked under me, and I stopped to see if Brad had noticed. Yet the poor bast**d dozed on, and so I continued.

I entered the doorway of the one bedroom our lousy apartment had. Needles, unmarked bags filled with “prescriptions”, and boxes of old cigarettes were scattered across the room. A Bunsen burner and water bong sat on the desk, among other undefined substances. The blue flame still flickered about, and I stepped over carefully to turn it off. Three bronze pots were on the floor of different parts of the room; one by the bed, one by the door, and one in spitting distance of the desk. Each one was almost a quarter of the way full, and smelled worse than dog vomit and burnt hair. The revolting smell made me gag, and I covered my mouth and nose to swallow my dinner that had risen up in my throat with a shudder.

‘Just get the keys, the cash, and get the h*ll out, Chuck…’ I thought to myself, refocusing on the task at hand. I snuck over to the end table, forcing myself not to look down into the pot of chewing tobacco and spit. My hand had just clasped onto the wooden handle when a loud crash was heard from the kitchen, followed by a bloodcurdling yell. “Sh*t…” I muttered, rushing back to the door of the bedroom and peering out.

Brad was jumping around, screeching and swinging his arms wildly and kicking the floorboards like crazy. “JESUS F*KING CHRIST, GET ‘EM OFF!!!” I furrowed my brow, watching the madman. There was nothing on or around him. Just the air, furniture, walls, and floor, nothing else. He stomped down on a board once, twice, thrice, and a fourth time, then grinned psychotically. “STAY DEAD, YOU RAT PIECE OF SHI-” In the middle of his cussing, he screamed, stomping again on the board again, again, again.

I swallowed, hesitating a bit before calling out to him. “Brad.” He ignored me, kicking up again on the floorboards. “BRAD!” I yelled, and he looked at me wildly. My blood ran cold, and I hesitating before speaking. “There’s nothing there. Chill out.” Brad gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as his hands balled into fists. “You…” He growled lowly, stepping towards me slowly. “You killed her... God forbid it, Lucifer I will kill you… You son of a b****…” I backed slowly, my skin tingling with adrenaline. “B-Brad.. It’s me, Chuck… C’mon…” I say, faking a smile and trying to play it off as if it was a joke.

He growled lowly, an animal stalking its prey. “I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do…” Brad muttered, and leapt after me with a roar. I dodged him, pushing him farther into the bedroom. “JESUS, BRAD IT’S ME!” I yelled at him desperately, trying to shake something from him, get him to understand. He only yelled, and lunged again. “DIE, YOU DEMONIC BAST**D, DIE!” I yelled for help, dodging him and banging on the door. “HELP ME, SOMEBODY, ANYBODY!” No one would come, and no one would help.

Brad pounced on me, his grip painfully tight on my arm. I yelped, squirming around and trying to get loose. A sharp pain shot into my ribs, and I let out a wail of anguish. I grit my teeth, balling my hand into a fist and punching Brad in the nose. He moaned, stumbling back. I scrambled back, now looking at him wildly. His hand reached back to stable himself on the table, but he missed and fell to the floor. I watched him uneasily, shaking.

Brad’s heavy breaths were ragged, and he coughed once or twice. “Ah…Alright, Devil. You stay right there, and I’ll get to you later…” His mouth curled up in a wicked grin. “Don’t move now, you son of a b****..” He muttered, laying on the floor, and dozing off with a few last words. “Don’t… move…”

I swallowed, waiting almost ten minutes before daring to make a move. My hands still shook, my breaths still shuddered. My eyes began to tear up, but I wiped the water away. Men didn’t cry. I winced, as I stood, my rib definitely broken. I walked over, resting on the couch, and shot James a text. ‘Hey man. Can’t run tonight. dad just flipped the h*ll out.‘ James replied, almost immediately. ‘You sure u don’t wanna go anyway, lil man?’ I sighed, leaning back and closing my eyes. ‘No. Not tonight, James.’