FicWad

Ryan walked around the side of the house into the backyard. He didn't have a house key. Even if he did, he wouldn't use the front door, his dad would just hear him coming and Ryan liked to stay out of his father's mind. He slid open the glass door, which was always open, and silently moved past the living room toward the stairs. He almost made it to the first step, but the one creaky floorboard in the whole house, the one that Ryan was always forgetting about, gave him away. His father, who had been sleeping drunkenly in the living room, woke up. "RYAN!!!" he practically screamed. Ryan sighed. He hated his dad when he was drunk. Against his better judgement, he went to meet his lazy lump of a father. "Uh, yeah, dad?"
"HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET HOME?! I DIDNT DRIVE YOU!!!"
"I, um, got a ride from my friend."
"A RIDE FROM YOUR FRIEND?! DAMMIT RYAN YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK ABOUT THAT!!! YOU ARE A PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A SON YOU KNOW THAT?!?" He attempted to stand up from his resting place on the couch, and kinda succeeded, if you could call stumbling up and breaking his beer bottle on the corner of the small desk success. "SHIT RYAN NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID!!!" He gestured in the general direction on the beer puddle soaking into the carpet.
"Uh, dad? You did that."
"OH SO NOW YOURE GOING TO ARGUE WITH ME?? IS THAT IT??? YOU BETTER COME HERE!!!" Ryan's father aimed a heavy punch at Ryan's face, and with his stunning agility and speed, Ryan dodged it. He dashed up the stairs and into his room, where he slammed the door and locked it, also bracing a chair up against the doorknob. Within moments Ryan could hear the drunken beating of his father on the door. He had been through this routine so many times before, you would think it wouldnt scare him anymore. You would think he would be used to it.
But he wasn't.
Every time his father attempted to hurt him, it terrified him, because each time, he got a little closer to succeeding. Eventually the beating stopped, and Ryan heard drunken shuffling that Ryan assumed was his father stumbling into his own room. He could finally relax now. He took out his ipod, put it on shuffle, turned the volume to an earsplitting level, and gazed out the window. He was at peace listening to all his favorite tunes, and began to drift off, not really sleeping but just kinda daydreaming. Daydreaming of a world where his father appreciated him and alchohol and abuse where things of tall tales. Suddenly his daydreams of a better life were interrupted by a sharp blow to the top of his head, applied with such force, that it could have only been delivered by the hands of an intoxicated father.

Ryan's entire world went black.