My dad was abusive.

He had a tendency to overreact but when he got drunk, he took it to a whole different level.

Aaron and I could both hear it at night.

Sometimes our dad came home late, really late. Drunk of his ass and started to hit our mother. Sounds of wood splitting, blood curling scream and angry shouts would fill the air as the both of us hid underneath our bunk bed. It was times like this that I realized he was the older brother. He would wrap his arms around me and talk about random things to keep me occupied. Like how our kindergarten principal had a new pet dog or how our class teacher was the lady version of Hitler.

I would listen to him, ignoring the way tears fell out of his eyes and how his hands shook. I would listen to him ignoring the screams that were resonating downstairs.

The young ten year me hadn't faced reality that time. I thought sometimes at night, some monster would barge in our house. But in the morning he would be gone.

Well I wasn't half wrong.

He was a monster.

I never understood why my mom wouldn't leave the sick excuse of a man. Love? Compromise for our sake?

Whatever it was, it was a pretty pathetic excuse.

As I grew up, I began to understand what was happening, little by little. But Aaron had forbade me to do anything. Because apparently our father was more dangerous and disgusting than an abusive husband.

He was a gang member.

Aaron told me that mom was secretly planning to escape as soon as we graduated high school. We would have gone to different colleges and mom would have gone to a different state, out of his reach. I absolutely despised the idea of mom having to endure the same shit she had been enduring for the last who-the-fuck-knows-how-many years. But it seemed we had no choice. And I was already a sophomore and Aaron was a senior then. So it seemed everything would end soon enough. Grasping that one candle of hope desperately, we began to live. Day by day.

But one night I made a mistake. Well, three, to be exact.

It was a Sunday. I had been sleeping all afternoon to actually get some sleep at night. So after tossing and turning in my bed for three hours, I finally gave up on sleep and went out for some food.

Hey, grown boys need to eat even if its 3 am.

The house was eerily quiet. The wooden pavement squeaked slightly as I stepped on them. I peeked my head inside the living room and glanced around checking for my dad.

It was like a fucking survival mission every night.

Seeing no one, I quietly tip toed to our small kitchen. No passed out drunkard meant dad still hadn't come home. Rolling my eyes, I opened one cupboard after another, checking for something to eat while I binged on football shows.

Finding nothing, I sighed disappointedly. I was about to go back upstairs dejected when I heard it.

The sound of something shuffling at the back door.

Aaron wasn't supposed to be home that they, he had sneaked of to some party. And even if he had changed his mind he wouldn't have come through the back door. And my dad would have never used the back door. I doubted his drunken mind would remember where the back door was.

Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I rounded the corner and swung open the back door.

Mistake number one.

Suddenly someone grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall beside. If it was anyone else, he would have been suffocated in less than a second by the burly guy with a forest like mustache.

But not to brag or anything but I was a pretty skilled fighter even at the age of sixteen. I knew how to defend myself and how to attack, thanks to Aaron who thought teaching me self defense was necessary in case our dad decided to come on us someday.

Twisting his arm around his back, I switched our place so I was the one strangling him instead.

"Who the fuck are you?" I gritted throughout my teeth as I watched him struggle and gasp for air.

"Stop."

The voice which came from behind me made me loosen my grip on that bastard's neck and turn around.

A middle aged man, almost my father's age was standing in the doorway. Two guys with guns were standing on both sides of him like guards.

My throat suddenly felt dry.

They were no puny bank robbers.

They were something much, much more dangerous.

I glanced around from the corner of my eyes. Our house was one story so if even something as small as a glass fell and shattered it would resonate around the whole house. But since my mom had been working tirelessly all day she still hadn't woke up thankfully.

And I wanted to keep it that day.

I glared at the man, "What the fuck do you think you are doing here?"

Ignoring me he glanced down at the guy who was now panting on the floor, "Stupid bastard. That's his son."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Don't ignore me you shithead."

An amused glint covered his eyes, "Tell me boy, where is your father."

I raised an eyebrow at him. I could care less about what he wanted with my oh-so-great father but I wanted to make sure it had nothing to do with the rest of us.

"Why? Want to kiss his feet like the rest of his pathetic gang?" I arrogantly asked. Yes, I was even more hot tempered at the age of fifteen.

"Quite the opposite actually," he smiled slightly but that didn't make his expressionless face seem any more welcoming, "I want to kill him."

I didn't know what kind of person it made me that I also wanted to join him.

"Who are you?" This time my voice was less suspicious and more curious.

"You don't need to know young man," he regarded me coolly, "Just know I'm someone who hates that bastard with a passion."

A smirk slowly spread on my face, "Then I guess we have something in common."

Slight surprise masked his face, "Oh? We do?"

"You have no idea how much."

He narrowed his eyes at me, "Really boy? Well perhaps we can help each other then."

I knew what he meant by that.

And I still agreed.

Mistake number two.

The next few weeks were troublesome. I didn't know what I had signed up for so when I found out that their work ranged from drug dealing to professional assassinations, I was shocked to say the least.

They had gone to kill my father that night but unfortunately they didn't find him. My father was also a pro. Killing him wasn't an easy task. His time schedule, his activities every information needed to be known.

And I was more than happy to provide it for them.

See? I was a monster.

But they were obviously suspicious of me at first. They didn't trust me and always kept a close eye on me whenever I was at their base.

By base, I actually meant a large underground warehouse.

I was being taught how to use a gun by none other than Jake. It was actually something I wanted.

I didn't want to do it but if push came to shove, I needed to be assured that I could kill that damn bastard myself.

Jake was a hot tempered guy, even more than me. He cursed, slept around and didn't care for anything.

But he was a great friend.

Andrew was also a member there. The three of us were called the invincible trio. As fucked up as it sounded, I actually enjoyed that time.

I provided information on my dad's works, sneaked away his papers to them and provided them with his schedule. Slowly their suspicion melted away when they realized that they were getting more benefitted this way.

But I still wanted him dead or at the least gone out of our lives.

That was my only condition.

But that day...I seriously wanted to kill him.

With my bare hands.

As usual, I couldn't sleep that night either. I was slightly insomniac. After giving up on sleep, I threw on a tee shirt and went to search the fridge.

Again, growing boys need to eat even if it's 3 am.

One thing was sure though, I had gotten over my insane fear of our dad after I joined the gang.

Once again I found nothing to eat anywhere. Unless you considered tomatoes and leeks midnight snacks.

Glaring at everything and anything in a three mile radius I was about to go back to my room.

When I heard the most terrifying sound in my life.

The sound of someone crying and begging for mercy.

That someone being my mom.

I froze.

It was coming from our parents' room.

Gulping, I took a few hesitant steps towards it. The door was slightly ajar making it possible for me to peek inside.

What I saw made my blood boil.

My 'dad' was on top of my mom and was ripping off her clothes.

He was forcing himself on her.

I saw red.

Slowly, very slowly, I backed away and went to my room.

Aaron and my room was next to each other. Casting a glance at his door, I noticed it was locked. That meant he was sleeping.

Good.

My hands were shaking as I pulled open my bedside drawer, revealing the gun safely hidden inside; buried underneath piles of papers.

My hands were still shaking as I loaded it, with just one bullet.

That's all I needed.

My footsteps weren't loud as I walked back down the corridor and crossed the living room. But I felt like I still heard them and my frantic heartbeat both.

The gun was held tightly in my right hand. Which was still shaking slightly.

But was it from fear or rage? The latter probably.

Monsters don't get afraid.

I stood behind the door; cries and sobs could still be heard from within.

Taking a deep breath, I let myself loose.

The door was kicked open as I rushed inside. My expression disgusted and murderous. The man (I just can't call him my dad any longer) jumped away from her as my mom laid there, bloodied and bruised.

I snapped my eyes back to him as he started yelling and shouting at me.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" he shouted as he tried to cover himself up.

I was absolutely and utterly disgusted at the scene.

My eyes saw red at that moment. I loathed that guy, I hated him with all my being.

So I did the thing I wanted to for a long, long time.

I raised my gun and fired.

But a silhouette jumped in front of me just in time.

The loud sound of gun shot resonated withing the small house like the cackling laughter of wicked hellish souls.

But I only heard the small thud of a limp body as it fell on the ground.

Aaron.

Mistake number three.