Less than Perfect by S. J. Evans (love letters to the dead txt) 📕

Bryan rammed himself into the post, reaching out for Skye the moment he made it there. He tried to pull her into him, to comfort and protect her, but a large hand stopped him, catching him by his neck. He stumbled back, anger and pain coursing through his inflamed body, and sneered at the man he despised calling father

. He grabbed his father’s arms, digging into them until he knew he broke skin.
“Get away from her,” he spat, choking on the words. He was growling, his anger charging through his veins as he stared into the cold eyes of his father. He hated him. There wasn’t one part of him that felt love towards the man before him; he was only the monster who abused him and others.
His father laughed, grabbing Skye’s shoulder and pinching it, painfully. He yanked her against him, his arm still extended towards Bryan’s neck. “You’re in no position to be telling me what to do, son,” he sneered. “Besides, you and I both know that I could snap your neck right now, and then do the same to miss perfect right here.” He snaked his arm around Skye’s neck, her body shaking as sobs escaped her, and took a long whiff of her scent. He smiled, slightly.
Bryan glared at him, knowing he was right. He fought the tight and repulsive grip on his neck, trying to pry the hand away. “Let. Go.” He managed.
“As you wish,” his father said. He slammed his foot into Bryan’s chest as he let go of his neck, knocking him down to the floor.
Bryan coughed, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. He crumpled in pain, groaning as his vision blurred and spun. Vaguely, he heard Skye’s protests to his father. He heard the shuffling of their feet growing in distance, her words and screams muffled by his father’s gruff voice, and the painful word he heard most clearly: Help

.
Crawling to his feet, he scurried behind them, the room spinning before him. He saw his father taking her unwillingly into Bryan’s room, and before he had time to even think about it, he found himself slamming into them.
They were sent to the ground; Skye whimpered as she tried crawling away, Bryan’s father grunted in irritation, and Bryan slammed his fist into his father’s face. He knew that, in one regard, it hurt him more than his father, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was to inflict discomfort on him, tearing him down just as he had done to him. He was trying to hurt Skye, just as he had with how ever many girls before, and Bryan couldn’t stand it. He could kill him for what he had witnessed.
In one quick movement, Bryan’s father had him tossed against the wall with some incredible strength. Bryan winced in pain, his head feeling as though someone had bashed a rock onto it. He tried to blink away the blurriness in his vision but couldn’t manage it; the room was cloudy and swirly.
He heard Skye scream and the moan of the mattress, and scrambled to his feet, searching with his eyes for the sight before him. When the blur faded a little, he gagged on his own saliva. He froze, watching the horrid sight in front of him, bringing anger and putrid memories to his mind.
“Get off me!” Skye cried, her screams piercing Bryan’s chest like a sword. She was underneath his father, fighting against the immovable strength of the man above her. Her feeble cries were coated with sobs as the man ripped her clothing, tearing her apart right before Bryan’s eyes.
He did the only thing he could possibly think of in that moment, and screamed for his father to stop. “Wait!” he yelled. His voice was cracking, but he managed to keep it strong and angered. “Let me do it first,” he added, quieter seeing as how his father had peered over to look at him. “I want her first.” He wanted to puke, the vile in his throat choking him. He hated saying those words. He knew they weren’t true. He was far too angry and disgusted with his father to even think about hurting her; besides, he remembered his promise to her, and he was keeping himself in check, protecting her.
His father looked thoroughly intrigued and pleased, along with a smile that showed something near…pride

. He looked proud

of his son. No matter how twisted it was. “You want

her first, son?” He asked, chuckling. “Go ahead than, do

her in.”
Bryan struggled to breathe, disgust and anger tearing at his body. Taking small steps towards the bed, watching as his father lifted himself away from Skye and the bed, he wiped blood off his face, hands shaking. He wanted to growl and spit at his father, to attack him again, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to get him out of the room so Skye would be safe, at least for a little while.
He got onto the bed, the mattress moaning against his weight, and slowly moved closer to Skye. He studied her, looking at the fear in her eyes, the disheartening sadness she displayed, and the shaking of her body. He realized she wasn’t just afraid of his father but him also, and it pained him. Knowing his expressions were guarded from his father, he calmed them, regarding her with a sad sympathy. He mouthed that he was faking it, to save her, but she still scrambled away from him.
Suddenly, he realized that there was still a putrid smell of smoke in the room and peered over his shoulder to look behind him. He thought that his father would have left by then, shutting the door behind him and listening for something on the other side of the door; but when he saw him there, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his massive chest and his expression repulsive with pleasure, he sucked in his breath.
“Go on, Bryan, do her in. I’ve got to watch my son finally get the nerve and become a man,” he said coolly. “It’s about time you act like a man. So go ahead son, I know you want her, just do it, use her like you’ve always wanted to.”
The statement brought heat to Bryan’s face, his body stirring with anger and regret, and pain pinched his nerves. He wanted to beat the life out of his father, but he kept his cool and gulped down his rage. His plan had backfired; he wasn’t going to be able to protect her how he wanted.
Turning around, he pushed himself closer to her, breathing heavily. His heart was pounding. He had to think of a way out of it; he wouldn’t allow himself to hurt Skye, especially not with company. For the first time since he started losing control of himself, he didn’t

want to use her. His love was overtaking the surging emotions and illness; from everything within him he only wanted what would be best for her.
Just in time, something beside the bed caught his eye. He cringed as he realized how close he and Skye were and how badly she was shaking. He didn’t want her to be scared of him, but he also knew there was no reason for her not to be.
He pulled her up by her arms and she whimpered, whispering pleads again and again. He tried to ignore the queasiness in his stomach and pressed her against the bedframe, crashing his lips clumsily against hers. The room still spun a little, his head reeling from the beating, and as he scooted them closer to the bedside table. Passionately making a scene, he subtly reached out for the knife.
Pocketing the knife, he nuzzled into the nook of her neck. “Get off the bed and on the ground, okay?” he whispered, making sure she was the only one able to hear it. “I’m going to get him away but you have to get down and trust me. Please, Skye, for your own safety.”
Nodding her head slowly, she whispered “okay” and crawled away from him. He pretended to try to get her back to him, yelling things at her as if he was angry with her for escaping. Then, when he heard the shuffle of his father’s steps, he leapt off the end of the bed and rammed himself into him. He fumbled with the knife hastily, stabbing it into his father’s side.
He couldn’t kill him though, his fear wouldn’t allow it, and instead he convinced himself that injuring him would be enough. He imagined that it would allow him and Skye enough time to escape.
He watched as his father stepped back in surprise, eyes wide, hunched over a little, and felt the fear subside. Once they made it out, he would call the police and his father would finally get the justice he deserved. And the thought of justice melted the misery in his heart.
“Good one,” his father gurgled.
Bryan stepped back in horror and reached a hand behind him. “Skye, come on,” he urged. “Hurry!” Before he could turn around to make sure she was coming, he felt cold fingers wrap through his and tug him forward. They left the room, running, although his and her bodies were each throbbing with fear and pain.
Everything’s going to be alright

, he told himself, tightening the grip on Skye’s hand as they stumbled along the way beside the staircase. He was getting her away from the awful man he was ashamed to call his father, and her safety was all that mattered to him anymore.
And that was when his life started to slip away from him.
He barely felt the knife stabbing into him the first time. But then it came again, twice, and he choked on his own blood. He shoved Skye away, pushing her towards the stairs. “Go!” he managed, blood spluttering from his