Hey guys !! Here's an early update and I apologize if this chapter might trigger any of you as this is a little heartbreaking to read and for me to write. But remember , you all are worth so much more, never let anybody or anyone bring you down ❤️

C H A C E'S P. O .V

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I ask, refusing to put down my weapon at the woman who made most of my childhood a living nightmare. The entire air has been sucked out of my lungs and I can't breathe.

Her expression is that of hurt with a tinge of guilt. She has absolutely no fucking right to give me that innocent doe eyed stare.

"Acey," she softly whispers, her blue eyes turning watery. Hell no.

"Please. We can talk about this and I promise I will never return. I ju"-

"I want you to leave right now," my index finger rests on the trigger. "Go before I blow your brains out."

"Acey pl"-

"I said... I want you out. And don't you ever call me that. Now leave before I create a scene."

Tears stream down her face, turning to walk slowly, expecting I will call after her and change my mind. I slam the door shut causing the shutters of my balcony to shake.

I storm towards the bathroom sink, bowing my head down as I stick my fingers down my throat and spew out my breakfast.

My breathing goes rigid, my throat hurting, as I continue to throw up.

My fingers fondle with the faucet and I raise my chin up at the person inside. I can't recognize him but I could've sworn I have seen him before.

He is young, much too young to have dark circles underneath his eyelids, sunken cheeks and a body that is covered in bruises, which he might have received from another session of beating.

Suddenly the image changes to that of a four year old boy with soft, baby fine hair falling over his big blue eyes and a contagious laugh erupting from his chubby lips. I again bend forward and hurl the remaining of the food I had consumed earlier, turning the faucet again to clear the contents in the sink.

Clutching the corners of the sink extra hard, I struggle to maintain my balance and not look back into the mirror, where I see bits and pieces of my childhood playing in front of me even though I didn't ask for it.

It was only because of one bitch in particular with platinum blond hair, eyes that manipulated different kinds of men wanting to get a piece of her, who now in the 21st century has the audacity to come begging for forgiveness from her son, who is trying his level best not to go insane in search of a distraction that would make me experience Nirvana all over again.

I was thirteen when I smoked my first cigarette .

I was fourteen when I got into my first fist fight, I almost put a guy into comma.

I was fifteen when I got laid and snorted lines that made me forget the harsh realities life had in store for me.

And I was only eight when a man who wasn't worthy enough of being called a father, slammed my head against the commode, getting on top of me, his hands encircling my neck, I only saw shadows.

I heard voices.

I heard myself screaming begging him to stop. I didn't know what I did wrong to anger him like this. Most of all, I didn't know why mom never came when I called her out to help me and call the cops. My face was wet, dry from the tears as I wondered where mom was when I needed her.

She never showed up.

The answer is obvious, Chace.

She only watched. Watched him do it to me, I can still feel him on top of me, forcing to give in. I allow myself to get lost in the rain that's pouring from the shower, not bothering to remove my clothes.

Fresh cigarette burns sting my knuckles, taking a giant swig of  bourbon, the contractions I'm feeling right now, I swallow real hard resisting the urge for the tears to freely fall.

"You are nothing but a disgrace to this family. You are just like the whore I got married to."

"You are nothing but an abhominal curse! You hear me?! You are just like your fucking father who I never in a million years wanted to spend my life with and then you showed up!"

My parents''s voice echo in my head, I take the bourbon and smash it to the ground, punching the cement.

"Shut the fuck up!!" I punch again.

"Shut Up!!" I punch harder.

Ten times harder than I am right now.

"Chace!"

"Chace!!"

"Chace!!"

I feel someone rocking my body, I wake up wheezing laboriously, splintering into a suffocating cough. Grabbing my pocketknife that I keep near my bed stand, I aim it at Irene.

"Get away from me..."

She raises her hands in defense.

"Relax... it's just me."

My grip around the knife tightens protectively, I refuse to let it go. "Don't come any closer or i'll hurt you..."

"Chace...It's fine... no one's here, it's only me... you can relax now." She says affectionately, hazel eyes becoming soft with sympathy. I know that look.

"Don't look at me like that!" I yell. This is the first time I'm feeling this fearful of something that I don't want happening to me.

I am aware of my surroundings and I can tell that the person standing in front of me is Irene and not my sorry excuse of a mom.

The words kindle my tongue, commencing to feel nauseous all over again.  I tuck the knife underneath my pillow, burying my face into my palms, pushing back strands of my hair damp with sweat.

"You weren't supposed to see this," my voice is muffled with embarrassment, my heart beat gradually returning to its normal speed. Irene smiles sadly, giving my back a rub.

"Here," she hands me a cup of hot Moroccan tea with a dash of lime.

"When I say I need a drink, I need a drink," I snap irascibly. "No thank you, I don't need a funeral."

"Have it."

Judging by the time of her voice, I know I don't have the power to object. Usually it's me who wins every argument, but the reason I can blindly trust Irene without blinking is because she is Irene. With her, there's no looking sideways.

You either take it or you take it. That's one thing I've never received in my life. Even if I didn't, Mother Nature can go fuck itself. I take a sip and rest my head against the wall. My room is in a mess and my shirt reeks of dry puke with alcohol.

Placing a hand on my thigh, she gives it a squeeze like she always does whenever I need consoling.

"Better?"

I nod. "Would be better if you turn this into a Shakespeare play," I roll my eyes and sneer. Giving my knee a pat, she guffaws. "I don't think I'm going to go."

Irene frowns.

"And why not?"

Since Hurricane and I have agreed to not cross the boundaries of platonic friendship, I wanted the both of us to try and hang out as friends at Alberto's, another favorite of mine.

Her classes finish by 4, but seeing her again would make me remember. Things that friends who aren't ready don't do.

"You turn your back on someone, especially when you leant your ears to them without having an opinion."

"Then why the shit can I not see her any other way? Why am I still attracted to her?"

"Because you guys are not ready yet. Chace, if it's meant to be ... it will happen. Right now, you both are confused, you are still growing into full fledged adults.. it's all a matter of time."

"How much time then? Till the "Allmighty" above decides to stop fucking around with me?"

"Cuando está destinado a caer en su lugar. When it is meant to fall into place. I don't like repeating myself either, cabròn. You have fifteen more minutes, and then you get your ass out of bed. Never, keep a woman waiting. As long as she means so much to you."

I lie back down with my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling, an image of Hurricane with her hair hung loose, smiling like a five year old on her birthday.

This time it was my turn to get frightened and I wanted her to be there to wake me.