Читать книгу I Just Wanted to Be Loved: A boy eager to please. The man who destroyed his childhood. The love that overcame it. - Stuart Howarth - Страница 5

‘What fucking time do you call this?’ Dad snarled as I crept in the door. ‘You're fucking late.’

I glanced over his shoulder at the clock and could see that I wasn't late. It was seven o'clock exactly, the time he'd told me to get home. If I got back before then I'd be in trouble so I always timed it exactly to the minute. ‘I'm not. It's …’

The words dried up as he rose suddenly from his chair, his lip curling the way it always did when he was angry.

‘Sorry,’ I pleaded, as his fist caught the side of my head, knocking me into the wall. I crumpled to the floor. ‘No, Daddy. Please don't.’

He kicked me in the side and I curled in a ball with my hands cradling my head. It was no use, though. I was hauled up by the arm as he kicked and punched me ferociously then hurled me against the door before pulling me back up for more.

I was only seven. There was a loud buzzing noise in my head, the noise I always heard when I was terrified. He threw me round the room, laying into me wildly with his fists and feet, not caring how badly I got hurt.

When he'd finished beating me he shoved me towards the stairs. ‘Go and get yourself cleaned up, you filthy bastard. I'll be up to see you in a bit.’

My legs were trembling as I climbed the stairs. Why did I always make him angry? Why couldn't I get it right?

I washed my face then went through to my bedroom, every bit of me aching. I considered hiding inside the walk-in wardrobe but I knew it would make things much worse if he had to haul me out. Instead, I crawled under the covers and pulled them up to my chin. I buried my face in the pillow and that's when the sobs came.

I knew what would happen next. Even as I cried for Mum, my sobs muffled in the pillow, I was listening for him coming upstairs. Bile rose in my throat as I worried about what he would make me do this time. The waiting was horrible. I could already smell the rancid, stale-sweat smell of him and hear his panting breath. There was a bitter taste in my mouth and I hurt all over. There wasn't a single bit of me that didn't hurt.

I began to tremble with fear, and then I heard it: the loud creaking sound of that first step, and then the next. He was coming. There was nothing I could do.