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“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

His mother’s raspy voice hit him from behind. Disgust crawled his flesh. A mix of hate and despondency.

He didn’t look at her, just gritted his teeth. “Getting a drink of milk. What does it look like?”

“And you don’t think to leave a little for the rest of us, you selfish prick?”

An indignant laugh left him. “There wouldn’t be any milk in the fridge if it wasn’t for me. I’m the one who goes to the mercantile to put in extra hours after I get off school while you keep your lazy ass parked on the couch.”

He used to never talk to her like that. He couldn’t stop himself anymore.

Maybe he didn’t care.

It didn’t matter what he said. She would never love him anyway.

“How dare you,” she wheezed.

But maybe he didn’t realize how much she actually hated him until that moment.

When he heard the clatter of the drawer before her voice snarled, “Get the hell out of my house before I end you the way I should have a long time ago. Should have saved myself the suffering. Saddling myself with you for all these years. I could’ve been something if it wasn’t for you. Should have tossed you in a dumpster where you belonged and went to find your daddy.”

He shifted around to find her standing in the middle of the kitchen with a knife pointed in his direction.

He laughed again. A morbid, deranged sound as he stalked her way. The tip of the blade poked into his bare stomach.

He leaned down closer, his voice harsh, but distant in his ear. “You hate me so much? Do it.”

Part of him wanted her to.

She trembled. In fear, he realized. She was afraid of him right then.

Karma, baby, considering he’d been terrified of her for his entire life.

“I will,” she rasped. “You come back to this house ever again, and I will.”

“Only reason I’d return is to burn it down.”

She paled.

Good.

Let her stay up every night for the rest of her life waiting for him to return for revenge. The way he’d done when she’d come back from the bar with a random guy.

Never sure of what was going to meet him. If he’d be dragged by the hair from his bed. Used as a punching bag. Tormented for the sake of him breathing.

He stormed around her and into his ramshackle room. Grabbed the few possessions he had.

Everything fit into his backpack.

He flew out the door. It clattered shut behind him.

Night swallowed him. The house across the street was vacant. Slanting into deterioration.

His heart panged.

Gritting his teeth against it, he strode off into the night.

Roamed.