Tim got home at around 2 in the afternoon. On his way home he pondered about his decision from earlier, which Alex had put into his head. Was he really ready to do it? What if he chickened out?
Tim went up the stairs as he heard his father screaming and calling for him. "TIM! God damn it! Get down here, this fucking instant!" His father had never screamed this loud at him, or at anyone for that matter.
"Coming!" He yelled back, scared. He stopped abruptly on the stairs and turned back around, hesitating to walk back down and into the living room. "What is it?" He asked with a panic filled voice.
When he walked into the living room he saw his father sitting on the couch, arms crossed, his mother not home. In front of his father were a bunch of pictures all over the table. "Oh no." He muttered.
The table was being defiled by pictures of Tim and Lukas, naked in bed. "What in god's name is wrong with you. This is disgusting!" He stood up, angry at his son, "You are a disgrace." He lifted his hand, letting Tim notice for the first time that he was holding a belt in his hands.
Tim practically turned to stone upon seeing his father reach back, belt in hand, and swing down upon his side. The hit came so surprisingly, he just fell to the ground, not registering the pain for a good few seconds. But, after seeing his father reaching back for a second time, the pain hit him. "Aah!" He screamed out in pain.
"Be. Quiet!" His father hit him again. The sound of his belt hitting Tim was sickening and terrifying to hear.
He wished for his mother to be here, she would protect him but she is either at work or grocery shopping. And his brother on the other hand is just as scared and terrified as he was. "Stop!" He begged. Tim had never imagined he would have to beg for mercy from his own father. The pain made him believe his father might actually kill him, and he noticed how scared of death he was the moment his instincts kicked him, making him tackle his own father.
His father, Tim tackling his stomach and waist, fell backwards to the ground, dropping the belt. "What—" He had no time to express his confusion as his head hit a sharp corner on the coach, which was exposed due to years of Tim and his brother chewing at the piece while they were younger.
With a loud noise of bone hitting wood his father stopped moving and just lay on the ground. Tim on top of him.
"What have I done?" He whispered, asking himself.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" His brother screamed. He had slowly creeped down the stairs to take a peek at what was happening and only saw their father on the ground, unconscious.
"I don't…" Tim looked at his brother, then felt a warm fluid touching his socks and feet. He dropped his gaze, and so did his brother, seeing that Tim was standing in blood, fresh blood, coming straight out of their father's head. Tim's pupils widened and he yelled at his brother: "Call an ambulance!"
And his brother did.
The two of them were sitting outside their house, talking to a police officer about what happened and Tim could hear some of them talking in the distance. They were saying this was nothing but self-defence and that his father had deserved it, physically abusing his child was pure evil and deserving of death.
He would get off scotch free. Not punished. Another murder under his belt. "If hitting me was deserving of death…" Tim's mind raced at the conclusions he was coming to. He looked at his crying brother before looking back at the stretcher his father was on.
"Dad is going to be okay? Right? RIGHT?" His brother asked the officers, getting more and more anxious and scared at every passing second his father not moved.
The policemen lowered their eyes, taking off their hats: "No… He is… Your father is dead." One of them got down onto his knees, trying to hug the boy and console him, the other one walked over to Tim.
"No, thank you." He just said, staring off into the sky. His expression was blank and his skin pale.