***Eli’s POV***

                I was furious. Michael. He had really betrayed me. I was so stupid for trusting him! I knew that Michael was a two faced bastard. I had always known that. All the way back since elementary school. We used to play war and Michael was always the spy. He had been so good at it that it seemed to have taken over his brain. Truly turned him into a spy. A dirty MUT. His fucking initials. Just like Chance's initials were CUT. How fitting for the both of them. Pat on the back to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. 

                Davey and I had pretended to get in a huge fight with Michael two years ago. Michael had managed his way in with Brad.  He and Chance always pretended to fight and hate each other. We all did. Michael would help us mess up Brad’s life.

                But now Michael was going to mess up mine.

                I slammed my front door and winced, realizing dad was home. “The hell are you slamming doors for?” he growled, coming out. “I…sorry sir,” I said sincerely. “I’m very sorry.”

                He glared and shook his head. “I have company coming in about 5 minutes. Fix your clothes and hair and then come out to the living room,” he barked. I nodded and hurried into my room. I gelled my hair down and quickly changed into the clothes he gave me for company.

                I went out to the living room where dad was sitting impatiently on the couch. He pat the seat next to him and I sat down. He pressed play on the remote as the doorbell rang and got up to answer it.

                I turned my attention to the TV and my heart sank. It was an old home video. I could hear dad talking in a hushed tone to whoever it was. I listened as hard as I possibly could.

                “Yes, my wife passed away not that long ago. It hit my son very hard. He’s watching old home videos. I’m so sorry. I just don’t have the heart to make him turn them off.”

                Disgusting. My father was a disgusting man. How dare he use the death of my mother to make himself look good. Using my pain.

                Dad and some guy who probably worked with him entered the living room. “Eli, this is Mr. Brown,” dad said. I shook his hand. “Hello sir,” I said in my respectful voice. He smiled at me, sympathy in his eyes as he glanced from the home video back to me. 

                On the TV, mom and I were playing with legos. I was 5 in this video. I remembered this day. My dad was filming it. I was giggling as mom handed me a lego. “Careful Eli!” she cried and pulled me away right before I stepped on one.

                She smiled and kissed my forehead. “Be more careful little man,” she said and ruffled my hair before letting me go back to building with the legos. “Sorry mommy,” my little self said with an innocent smile.

                I felt my throat close. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t watch this. I moved to get up but dad shot me a hateful look. But this was far worse than anything he could ever do to me physically. This pain was in my heart and it was something nothing could fix.

                My mom was gone and never coming back. This video…it was just a countdown. A countdown to the day she would die and leave me alone with this bastard. My dad had beaten me ever since I was a small child. Too young to know why he was doing it. I think I was 2 the first time he ever hit me. When I was 1 and slowly learning to walk, he pushed me down. That was one thing I could somehow remember.

                He always acted like he loved me in front of mom. He had loved mom. Loved her a lot. And she had loved him a lot. And she had loved me a lot too.

                I pushed myself off the couch. “I have to go write an essay,” I lied pleasantly. “It was very nice meeting you Mr. Brown.” “It was very nice to meet you too,” he said and I left to go to my fake room.

                I shut the door quietly and buried my face in my hands. I grabbed my iPod and played Marilyn Manson. Davey had gotten me into Marilyn Manson. He and has dad had always loved Marilyn Manson. They had gotten me into the music a few years back.

                A few hours later, the door was thrown open. “Why you little shit!” dad roared. He grabbed me by my wrist, digging his nails into my skin. I winced and bit my cheek to keep from whimpering. He dragged me downstairs.

                “You see this?!” he screamed, holding up a picture of me in a frame. I was 7 years old, smiling happily. “Yes sir,” I said. “I hate this! I hate this bastard! He doesn’t deserve life!” he shrieked and held the frame up.

                I realized what he was doing too late. He brought the frame down on my head and I yelped as the glass shattered. I felt something warm seeping through my hair and down my face. I watched my blood drip to the floor.

                “You got blood on my floor!” dad shouted. He threw me to the ground and slammed my face down, causing more blood to drip. “This is what they do when a dog pisses on the floor. Rub the dog’s pathetic face in it. How do you like that Eli? You’re a fucking dog!” I could feel the rug burn forming as he rubbed my face roughly on the ground.

                He pulled my head and dragged me towards the backyard. “Do you want to be treated like a dog? Sure. You’re a dog now!” he yelled and opened the back door. Our yard was fenced off and our neighbors probably couldn’t see outside.

                Dad slammed the door in my face and I waited in fear. I knew what he was going to do. We used to have a dog named Quincy. He had died of old age when I was 11.

                Dad returned with Quincy’s collar and leash. He wrapped the collar around my neck and hooked the leash to it. He kicked me down the steps on the back deck and dragged me. I slid my thumbs under the collar so that I wouldn’t choke to death.

                He tightly wrapped the leash around one of the poles on the deck and kicked me in the face. “Have fun you little shit,” he growled and went back into the house. I whimpered quietly and pulled my knees up to my chest, trying desperately to stay warm.

                I didn’t sleep that night. I watched the sun rise and anxiously glanced at the door. Dad came out and threw some clothes at me before slamming the door again. I bit my lip as I grabbed them. I quickly changed and unhooked the leash as I heard the bus coming.

                I hopped over the fence and got on the bus before cursing. My reflection in the mirror showed dried blood on my face. The driver stared at me in horror. I flipped my hair into my face and pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up to hide my face.

                I got off at school where Davey was waiting. “Bathroom. Now,” I growled. He followed me as we hurried through the halls to the bathroom. Davey quickly pulled my hood down and raised an eyebrow. “Nice cuts,” he grumbled. I was about to pull the hood back over my head when I heard a shocked gasp.

                “Eli!" My heart dropped and my mouth felt dry as I turned my blood-covered, rug-burnt face towards Sam.