I drop my black leather jacket on the floor of the new house as I walk in. I had just gone for a walk to clear my head, and when I came back, everything was the same. Other than the brown moving boxes littered everywhere, the place is completely bare. The forsaken walls seem to close in, suffocating me. 

      This is all my deadbeat dad's fault. The memories are all rushing back to me. I was walking home from school one day in the tenth grade. When I got inside, I saw my dad and this random woman making out on the couch. I can still remember his face when he saw me. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Or his boss. Either one.

      "Hunter," he had said after a few seconds of staring. "You're home early. I thought you had chess club after school today."

      Okay. I used to be a huge nerd. Like a really big nerd. Bite me.

      "'You're home early' ? That's all you have to say for yourself?" 

      His father opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "First of all, chess club is on Tuesday after school. It's Wednesday, idiot. Second, it shouldn't matter if I'm home early. This should never happen."

      "Please," Dad begged. "Don't tell Mom."

      "Don't tell Mom?!" I was screaming by then. "I'll tell Mom everything! You don't deserve her! I hope she cuts you loose! Then see how much you like your - whatever she is after your relationship isn't a scandal anymore! Is love a game to you?!"

      Finally, the woman spoke. "I should probably go." She got off of the couch.

      As she walked by me, she said, "It was really nice meeting you." 

      The moment she left, my dad turned on me. "You little piece of crap," he growled. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

      I stared at him in shock.

      "Do you think she'll ever come back here?" he got up from the couch and started pulling his belt out of the loops on his jeans that, miraculously, he was still wearing. "I believe I asked you a question, didn't I?"

      "I hope she doesn't come back again!" I shouted. "You're going to ruin this family!"

      "Not if your mother doesn't hear about it," Dad said. He was holding his belt at his side. "And she won't hear about it, will she?"

      "Like hell she will! You aren't getting away with this, you stupid-" I was cut off by a sharp pain across my face. I staggered backward. His belt. My father had hit me with his belt.

      He advanced on me, pinning me to the wall behind me with his arm across my throat. "I can't believe I ever loved you. You're the biggest disappointment in my life. You're weak. You could have been just like me."

      I glared at him. "I would rather die than be like you." Then I swung my fist at his face, sending him reeling backward.

      He swung his whip across my face again, this time harder. I touched the side of my eye, and my fingers came away sticky with blood.

      "GET OUT!" I screamed. "NOW! AND DON'T EVER COME BACK! EVER!"

      He did.

      Right when the door slammed closed behind him, I sank to my knees and sobbed. 

      My mom had come in through the door a few minutes later. Putting her arms around me, asking me what was wrong. I raised my head to answer, and she caught the sight of my injured eye. She immediately demanded to know how I got it. 

      I smiled up at her and said. "It's okay, Mom. I just walked into a sign on the way home."

      I could have told her everything. I should have told her everything. But I didn't.

      The next day, I spiked my hair, grabbed one of my dad's leather jackets, a pair of his jeans, and a plain gray T-shirt. I bought a pack of cigarettes on the way to school, making me fifteen minutes late, but I didn't care. I quit all of my clubs, purposely screwed a math test, and refused to listen to my teachers when they asked what happened to me. I ignored all of my friends. I caught girls staring at me, and laughed at their giggly reactions when I winked at them. I even  ditched seventh-period Spanish. I had completely changed my image. I had what you could call, a nerd evolution. And everyone, including me, loved it.

      Dad came back a couple of days later, claiming that he had gone on a business trip. Before we had dinner that night, he pulled me aside. He said that if Mom found out, he would beat me to death. He did beat me again, but only if I stepped out of line. And he made sure that Mom couldn't ever see the evidence.

      One day Mom found out though. She found bruises around my neck where Dad had choked me. You can imagine how angry she was when she found out that the black eye I had for the next two weeks was Dad's fault. She was even more angry when she found out that he made me keep it from her. Apparently the woman whom Dad had the affair with worked in the restaurant Mom managed. She was fired the day after Mom found out. Mom and Dad hadn't separated. Mom had just handed him the divorce papers and told him she knew what he did.

      To this day the memories still hurt. But things are getting better. Mom gave up her alcohol addiction and returned to work, but she still couldn't pay the mortgage on the house. So we moved out of New York and up into Canada, into the smallest town I have ever seen, called Port Perry. I support my mom and all, but I still don't see why we couldn't just rent an apartment or something. My thoughts are interrupted by a loud CRONCH! sound coming from the kitchen.

      I enter the kitchen, and Mom has opened a bag of all-dressed chips. She eats chips whenever she feels like giving up on life. Apparently it reminds her that when everything seems awful, there is still something good left in her life. The satisfaction of the moment you open the bag and chip-scented powder fills the air for a few seconds, and your mouth is watering as you crunch the first chip. Unfortunately, she has developed a chip addiction.

      "Mom," I say. "Don't go down that road again. I don't think I can take any more of those workout videos." I start imitating the woman that hosts the videos by doing squats. "If you're doing it right you'll feel the burn! Oh yes, keep going, girls!"

      Mom laughs.

      "I suppose you're right." She sighs. "It just still hurts sometimes. I loved him so much."

      "Mom," I say, putting my hands on her shoulders. "You are too good for that lying cheater. I'm not too happy about what happened either. It hurt me too. But we have to support each other. And eating chips is not a good coping strategy." I kiss her forehead.

      "Thank you, honey," Mom says, looking down at the open bag. "I guess I'll put these away for later, then."

      She walks over to the empty cupboard. I let out a sigh. "Hold on."

      Mom stops and turns around to look at me.

      "I suppose one bag wouldn't hurt. You've already opened it, too."

      Mom smiles, setting the bag back onto the counter. We both soak in the glory of this moment. We are all each other need. We're happy this way. We eat the bag of chips while watching Dirty Dancing, Mom's favourite movie, on her laptop. I hate it, but I don't complain, because I know that she needs this, and sometimes you need to sacrifice your own happiness for the happiness of someone who needs it more. And if it's my mom, I'm perfectly fine with that.