Things are gonna change in a real big way.

"Of course I'm happy."

Those words were so ironic. It is at this point in my journal that things get decidedly intense. If I had known at that moment that it would be the last time in a while that I would truly be happy and content, then I would have savored it. I would have enjoyed it on a higher level. The rest of the night with Sam and my friends went great. We laughed, talked, and did any usual thing teenagers do.

There is one big problem with me. I am not a normal teenager and my life is far from usual. Just looking over my journal I can see that. Normal teens don't attack much bigger football players in the middle of a stadium and get away with it. Normal teens aren't suicidal. Or are they?

The first reality bomb went off at my house.

I kissed Sam good night as she dropped me off and said goodbye to Julian. Julian was finally able to go home since Ross wasn't really in any condition to hurt him. I must have truly been high on happiness because I didn't notice his car.

What I did notice, however, was the smell—English Leather cologne and Kool cigarettes. To this day I get a pang of fear from the smell of that cologne. It sets off so many memories at once I am overwhelmed. When I walked through the front door the smell instantly transformed me into a weak child. All the dread and dismay were once again burning through my veins.

I instantly became little Harly.

My father was sitting at the kitchen table, lighting a Kool cigarette. A tight tank top failed to hide the muscles and various tattoos that covered his arms and back.

"Well, Harlan," he said, grinning, the sound of his voice reverberating through my head like a horrible dream. "Happy Halloween, son."

I stood there speechless, unable to say a single word. I felt my pulse quicken and the sweat immediately began to bead on my forehead. He was wearing his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The cigarette sat on his lips like the fuse of a lit bomb.

Fourteen years of memories barreled through my brain with explosive energy. My legs shook and I thought I heard a whimper escape my lips.

I remembered being nearly drowned in a swimming pool by my father's strong hands and then having him beat me for passing out. I remembered my perpetually black and blue arms, my father's favorite body part to use as his punching bag. I remembered the feel of his leather belt against my bare skin. I remembered the day he forced me into attacking him and then beat me mercilessly for doing it. I remembered him banning books from my life, destroying every one that he found. The taunts and the cruelty. The contemptuous laugh every time he had me cornered. The way he would imitate and mock my cries horribly. The way he made me feel like I was worthless and would be better off dead. I was his unwanted and unloved son. 

"Your mother tells me that you've been quite the troublemaker lately, Harlan," he said, blowing smoke and burning holes into me with his cold eyes. "She says she can't control you any longer. Things are gonna change now, Harlan. Things are gonna change in a real big way." He eyed up the Halloween make-up. "Turning into a real sissy now too. I heard that you're hanging out with faggots. If that's true, Harlan, I'll kill you. No son of mine is going to be a cock gobbler, I'll tell you that right here and now."

I stood there with my mouth hanging open as my mother walked into the kitchen and kissed my father on the head. "Me and your father are going to try again, Harlan," she said. "I think he deserves another chance. He's changed."

"Mom are you fucking insane," I muttered weakly as my father's eyes widened. "He just threatened to kill me not even thirty seconds ago."

"Harlan—" she said and was cut off as my father stood up.

"Don't talk to your mother like that, Harlan," my father said matter-of-factly. I noticed the look in his eyes, a look that I'm all too familiar with.

"How can you do this to me, Mom?" I asked her. "I'm finally starting to put myself back together and now you do this."

I turned and walked upstairs. I grabbed a duffel bag and threw a bunch of clothes in it. I also put my journal inside. I was about to walk out when he came in.

He hit me so hard I was airborne and into the wall before I could react. I felt the air rush out of me and I lay against the wall, stunned, my chest throbbing. He knelt down and thrust his unshaven face into mine.

At that moment I felt something shut off inside of me. I couldn't feel anything except anger. We stared at each other with burning hatred, the smell of his cologne stabbing into me.

"Listen you little prick," he hissed, his breath a mixture of nicotine and liquor. "You will respect me. You will respect your mother. You think your life was hell before? I'm telling you right now, Harlan, you screw things up between your mother and me and I will kill you. Literally. I will choke the life out of your fucking faggot body."

He put his hands around my neck and started to squeeze. My tongue protruded out of my mouth involuntarily as I struggled to push him away.

"Do you hear me, Harlan?" he asked, moving his face closer.

I could see little black circles swimming around through the air. He let go of me just as I was about to pass out. I struggled to put some air into my lungs. He slapped me across the face and I felt my lip split open. The taste of my blood hit my tongue like a shot of whiskey.

It was at that moment that I left myself.

"Don't fuck with me, Harlan. You're grounded. The only time you leave this room is when you need to go to the bathroom or eat." He grabbed my phone and yanked it out of the wall. He got up and walked towards the door. He stopped and then turned. "I do love you, Harlan. I am your father. You are my son, you know."

He stepped out of the room and closed the door. I watched the phone cord disappear under the door like a serpent.

I lay there and stared at the wall for what seemed like hours. I could feel the blood trickling down my lip and onto my chin. I could still feel my neck burning from where he had choked me.

Something was wrong with me. Something inside my mind had broken.

For some reason I couldn't feel anything. Even thoughts of Samantha brought nothing. All I could feel was rage. The Screamer had escaped and he wasn't going back in.

I grabbed my bag and quietly opened the door. Across the hall was my mother's bedroom. A clothes iron was sitting on her dresser. Not quite realizing what I was doing I picked it up and went back up into the hallway.

Weapon in hand, I crept quietly down the stairs.

 My Dad was holding my mother in his arms, his back turned to me. My mother had her eyes closed so she didn't see me moving towards them. She didn't see me raise the iron back. She opened her eyes and gasped just as I brought it down into the back of his head. Her gasp caused him to move and as a result I slammed the hunk of metal down onto his ear.

The blood squirted into my face as the ear practically ripped from the side of his head. My mother started screaming as my father fell to the floor his hands held to the side of his bleeding head.

I looked down at him coldly. "You're not my fucking father."

I threw the iron into the kitchen and it smashed into the microwave in an explosion of glass. I walked out the door, ignoring the screams of my mother.

I started running as soon as I got to the front of the house, my face splattered with the blood of my father.

I ran across the street and crossed into Suzanne's back yard. She wasn't home so I let myself in through the back door using a key she had hidden under a plant. I didn't turn on any lights. I walked up to the chair and sat down in the dark. After about fifteen minutes, I heard the ambulance. I stared as the lights flashed around me in the dark room.

I was beginning to shut down.