I spun my dad’s pistol around on my desk as I drummed my other hand against the palm rest of my laptop. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my spine, I bounced my leg nervously, and the taste of iron touched my tongue as a bit my lip. I re-read the letter that I wrote, my final outcry for help. Unsure of who to even ask for help besides her.
My parents got a divorce a couple of years ago and my mother has since then gotten in a relationship with this man. He has been repeatedly abusive towards my mother. Not only mentally, but physically as well. He never does anything in front of me but it is pretty easy to connect the dots. Bruises have appeared on my mother’s arms, legs, and very recently, her face. She refuses to admit that it is him, and as a teen in high school, I feel powerless in this situation.
I have thought about reporting this to the police, yet if she refuses to say anything it will only create more problems. I’m afraid that if I tell anyone that he may hurt my mother even worse, or even myself. I’ve thought about confronting him myself about it, yet I have no idea how he will react if I do. CONCERNED SON.
I scoffed at my own letter. What a stupid idea, to think that she could actually provide any help in this situation. I stood up from my chair and gripped the pistol with my sweaty palm.