Stripping Callum (Last Hangman MC Book 6)(5)

My mother, and I use the term loosely, abandoned me at the hospital as soon as she could leave, leaving me with my father who didn’t have the first idea of what to do with a baby. I cost him his chances at the perfect life with a woman who wanted the same thing as he did and didn’t want the highlife or kids. Just a life of fun—drugs, sex, and alcohol. My father, true to himself, kept up with the alcohol, resulting in being drunk twenty-four seven.

From as early as I can remember, he was drunk and always told me I was an accident and never wanted. That if he could have, he would have abandoned me or stopped the pregnancy short, but they found out too late that she was pregnant with me to get an abortion. Everybody in the good town of Pleasant Valley knew my parents’ were expecting.

My father, despite his addictions, was a respected man. He was the coach of the football team, and he was funding the team. It was his pride and joy.

Some days I still wish he would have just got rid of me so I wouldn’t have had to go through what I did with him.

Jack became violent with me when I turned five, and it didn’t stop. It kept getting worse, and there was nothing I could do. I was just a little kid.

As the years went on, so did the bruises. He was too respected amongst the teachers that nobody dared say anything and just left me be even when they saw the bruises, the busted lip, the black and blue eyes. They didn’t care because appearances and money were too important for them.

If I was late getting home, I was beaten. If I was too early, I was beaten. If I didn’t make good grades, I was beaten. If I asked for the littlest thing, I was beaten. So, I stopped everything and was an obedient child even if I just wanted to run away. I didn’t have a happy childhood to say the least.

I didn’t make friends. They knew what was going on at home; it was written all over my body, and their parents’ knew and warned them not to get close to me or befriend me. The only friendship I could have had was cut short when Jack decided to mess with him and scare the kid. He made sure I wouldn’t make any friends and that people would stay far away from me. I was counting down the days to graduation so I could leave him for good.

I never cared about school, but my lifelong dream was to become a Marine. I knew I had to stay in school if I wanted to have the chance, one day, to join those admirable men and women who serve our country and protect it.

Whenever I could, I worked out. It wasn’t hard to find time at home, as past six in the evening Jack would be passed out drunk. So, I took that opportunity to go out and run, lift whatever I could to build up strength and muscles. I didn’t know the first thing about working out, but I knew I had to become stronger. If not for my possible future career, to hopefully be able to defend myself the next time Jack would lash out at me.

It was proven useful when my father decided to ‘roughen me up’ as he’d say.

I was coming home from my evening workout, and he was awake and waiting for me. Right then and there, I knew I was in deep shit. He had no idea of my nightly whereabouts because of the state he put himself in, but this time, he knew.

As soon as I walked through the door, he punched me in the jaw. I stumbled but didn’t fall. That was the first time I didn’t cower to him. I confronted him about him always hitting me. I’m glad I spoke up that day.

“This is the last time you will ever hit me, Jack,” I spit out his name as if it was poison filling my mouth.

“Oh, you think, kiddo? I wouldn’t be so sure.” He chuckled darkly and swung at me, but I moved out of his reach.

“Oh, but I am.” I took a swing at him and connected with his nose. It wasn’t strong enough to make him lose his stance, but it rattled his confidence.

“Where did you learn how to f*cking fight back?” he yelled.

“You taught me for ten years how to hit someone. It’s your fault for showing me the bad example.” I took another swing at him and connected with his jaw. Hitting a lot stronger than the first time, making him tumble against the wall and slide down it.

“I didn’t hit you hard enough or you would have fought back, you little shit!” He tried to get up, but I pushed him back down and punched him with all my might right across his temple, making him lose consciousness briefly. I dragged him to the center of the room so he didn’t have anything to grab that he could use against me.

“No, you should have hit me harder and killed me years ago.”

“Where would the fun have been in that? You ruined my life so I ruined yours. That was only fair.” He sneered at me, and I hit him in his aged face. Years of alcohol abuse didn’t do him any good. The punches kept raining until he was unconscious and had no fight in him anymore. I didn’t check if he was still alive or not. I ran to my room and grabbed the duffle bag I had ready just in case something happened and I had to leave. I picked up my father’s credit card on my way out. I needed to make a pit stop at the bank. I wasn’t planning on taking the card anywhere with me, but I needed some money to make my way as far away from him as I could. Besides, if he’s dead he wouldn’t need it anymore.

That’s how I left ‘home’ twenty-four years ago.

Things haven’t been any easier since then. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak and pain.

I made my way down South and ended up in New Orleans, Louisiana. I had no idea what to do, but I knew I wanted to join the Marines still. I went to a shelter directed by nuns, and they really were saints. They helped me get the education I needed so I would be able to fulfill my purpose in life. They didn’t ask me questions. Seeing the state I was in when I reached the shelter was enough for them to know roughly what I had been through. I loved those women. They were strict but fair and had my best interest in mind.