~~PHIL'S POV~~

His fist connected with my jaw, and I could taste the blood. The metallic taste seeped from my inner cheek against my tongue, bitter and harsh, but sadly not a new taste to me. I manage to catch my feet, having stumbled halfway across the vast living room, and see my dad swaying and leaning against the couch, trying to get his senses. His hazy, drunken eyes found me and he began to stumble towards me, his large hands balled into fists as I cower in front of him, waiting for another blow.

Just then, I hear the door open. "Get away from him, you BRUTE!" My sister screams at him as she walks in.

He punches the wall above my head, leaving a considerable hole in the drywall, and calls my sister some choice words before stumbling off to his room, grabbing the glass of scotch that sat on the table on his way. I have to hand it to him, even though he's the worlds worst father, he doesn't lay a hand on her. Instead, he sticks to mental abuse, and trust me, she doesn't deserve a word of it. She's beautiful, smart, and sweet, on her way to Yale to become a doctor, full tuition and everything.

"Thanks, Lilly. I don't know what I'd do without you…" I whisper. Her face goes dark, a mournful look gracing her cheeks, her emerald eyes taking a solemn tone to them.

"I'm not sure either. I'm worried what he'll do to you when I'm gone… Let's not dwell on that. Come on, let's get you fixed up." She pulls me up from where I had slid down against the plush carpet and leads me to the marble bathroom.

She sets me down and wets a fluffy white hand towel, brushes my black hair away, and begins to dab at a cut above my right eyebrow that appeared from the clunky school ring he hadn't bothered to take off before beating the shit out of me. I wince as the cool water stings the cut and my blood is soaked up into the towel.

"Oh, sorry Phil!" She tells me as she pushes a piece of her long auburn hair behind her ear, but still continuing to clean my wounds. I don't get how I'm related to someone so perfect, while I'm so… me.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. You're not the one who did it," I say, sneering in the way of my father's room.

"What got him so mad? I haven't seen him that angry since you nearly failed Ms. Norman's math class last year."

"He saw the D I got on my bio test. I'm retaking it Monday, so I wasn't too worried, but… he found it." I sighed. The only thing he cared about in our lives is that we get good grades and don't embarrass him, something my sister excels at and I frequently fail.

"Oh, Phil…" She says, pity lining her words. "You know, I could help you study."

"No, Lilly. You need to keep your GPA up. I can't take you away from your homework. You already have your hands full with crew and your super-smart classes'homework. You can't lose your scholarship. I'm already wasting enough of your time letting you bandage me up."

Lilly just stays silent at that, a slight grimace on her face. I hear her whisper to herself "I'm not wasting my time," as she smears Neosporin on the cut and walks away.

I go back into the kitchen, grab my bag, and head up the garish staircase to my strikingly plain room. Even with how rich he is from his job, my dad never bothered to buy me anything special or new, just enough so I wouldn't look sloppy. I flop onto my bed and situate myself, putting my ear buds in and my geometry homework on my lap. I'm supposed to be doing my homework, but instead I just sit, thinking, with the familiar songs of Muse playing from my simple IPod.

I think about the faint memories I have of my mom, a tender woman who was always an older version of my sister. The memory that really sticks of my mom, however, is not a kind one. I was six years old, sitting in the back of my mom's car, listening to her talk to her coworker about a project she had been working on. All of a sudden, the breaks squealed and my mom screamed; her head turned towards her left, the phone falling to the floor.

Then, a huge force struck my mom's side of the car. I remember being scared and crying, the white walls of the hospital, the look on my dad's face as he broke down right in the middle of the hospital, right in front of Lilly and I, after they told him my mom didn't make it, that the surgery didn't work and she died from her injuries.

I remember the funeral, a closed wooden casket. Me leaning into Lilly and sobbing, her head resting on mine, her tears soaking my hair, and my father sitting stoically beside her. What I remember most vividly, however, was after the funeral. We hadn't even changed out of our formal black clothes into pjs before he opened a bottle of whisky, downing half the bottle before approaching me and shoving me against the wall, my feet a yard away from the floor, while he screamed in my face that it was me who caused my mom's death, like a 6 year old could even have that power. I also remember promptly pissing myself in fear before he threw me on the couch, where Lilly collected me, cleaned me up, and sent me to bed, acting much more grown up than a 9 year old should have to be.

I wonder what my life would have been like, if my mother had lived through that crash. Would my dad still be abusive? Would I hate myself so much? Would my sister be happier?

Or, alternatively, what if I had died in that crash?

POOR PHIL D: I feel so bad for him, but it had to be done. I can actually relate to both Phil and Dan in this story, Phil having a mother-like sister and Dan having, well... you'll see what lands him in there soon enough. This will be updated on Tuesday and Saturday :)