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Prologue
Dean
Age twelve:
I hate this part of the day—the part where I have to endure this so-called home where I unfortunately live. Look up the definition of trailer trash, and a picture of my parents is right beside it. Dirt and chaos all wrapped up in one complete shit show.
No doubt my mom will be as high as a kite, and dad will be just as far gone, but from the bottle. I could stay with my brothers in our clubhouse, which I usually do, but I need clean clothes and a full meal. I already know there’s a slim chance I’ll actually find something edible in that fuckin place to eat, but I have to take my chances. After a couple nights of going to bed hungry, I’ve got nothing else to lose. There’s only so much I can handle my brothers doing for me. I open the trailer door as quietly as possible, but I can tell by the stench in the living room that I’m not getting out of this night quickly.
“Where the hell have you been, boy? You’ve been gone all day, and there’s shit I needed you to get done,” my dad hounds me as soon as I walk in. Technically, he hasn’t seen me in about three days, but he’s probably been drinking the whole time, so I’ll let him believe it was only today.
“Sorry, I was helping my friends,” I say, hoping to get off easy. I know if I try to give any more of an explanation than that, I’ll pay for it in spades. In the end, the less I say to my dad, the better.
I know it’s not going to happen, but one can dream that, for once, he’ll leave me the hell alone. Before I can even blink, my old man charges, catching me off guard. Even drunk, the bastard is as quick as a linebacker. I brace myself, but he’s so much bigger than me, and I know I don’t stand a chance. Tackling me, he lands on top, knocking the wind out of me, and starts punching my face, neck, shoulders, and even the top of my head. He stands, and I know he’s just getting started. Leaving me down on the floor, and starts kicking—stomach, ribs, anywhere and everywhere he can land a blow. I wish I could say I was shocked, but this happens all too often. I know the only thing I can do is lay here and take it all until he tires himself out. I try to protect my face as best as I can and just brace myself for each hit, but the damage is already done.
I vow, though, that one of these days, I will be big enough to give back as good as I get. I will grow up and shed this small twelve-year-old body and be stronger than him. Someday, when he thinks he has me beat and least expects it, I’ll fight back, and I’ll win. I will make my dad regret every single time he’s raised his fist to me. Every bruise, broken bone, every tear shed, I’ll give back to the bastard tenfold. When his fist finally stops, I can barely hear to make out the words he’s slurring at me.
“Your family is more important than any of those trashy, fake fucking friends you hang around with. They're going to leave one day, and you’ll still be here because you're nothing. You're not better than me, you piece of shit. You won’t make anything of yourself. You’ll either end up in prison or, better yet, dead.” His words do exactly what he wants. Every single one of them cut deep and to the core.
I know my friends are better than me and deserve to get out of here. None of us have had it easy and, even at our young ages, we’ve already paid more than our share of dues. My brothers have all earned the chance at the very best in life, and I will do anything I can to help them reach their dreams. Unfortunately, I already know that it won’t include me. Like my dad said, I’ll always be stuck here, in prison or dead. In the end, it’ll probably be the last one and by his hands.
Later, when I finally have the strength, I pull myself off the floor and out of the trailer. The old man finally wore himself down and passed out drunk in bed where my mom has been this whole time, sleeping off her latest drug binge while I take another beating. I stumble slowly and painfully out the door and off the porch, falling to the ground after stumbling down the stairs. I land face-first in the pathetic patch of dirt and rocks that passes as our front yard. That’s where Joey and Landon find me shortly after. Their trailer is right beside mine.
When they see me lying there, my brothers pick me up and move quickly, carrying me to our clubhouse. With my eyes almost swollen shut and pain radiating everywhere, I know I’ll never forget this moment. Not because of another beating from my father, but because this is when we all make our pact to leave here at eighteen—together.
This moment will forever play on repeat in my mind since it’s the first time in my life that I’ve experienced hope. Hope can be a dangerous thing to a kid like me, but with my brothers by my side, for once, I’m holding on tight. The whole time we’re talking and nailing down the details of our escape plan, in the back of my mind, I’m just praying I make it to eighteen it alive and in one piece.
