SIX

                                    

                                          
The next day after school I rushed up stairs to my room, passing Joe in his chair closing my bedroom door behind me. Moving a book on my shelf I felt around for the gun.
Nothing.
Maybe it was behind one of the other books, I checked behind each one, it was gone, I opened my door and cautiously headed down the stairs to see Joe still in his chair spinning the barrel of the gun.
'looking for something' he said glancing up the stairs towards through the bannister towards me.
'I was in your room, wondering if you had any cash, we're running low on liquor, and guess what I find, go on boy...take a wild guess'
His gaze back to the revolver in his hand 'guess'
I shuffled down the stairs 'that's mine, give it me back'
He continued spinning the barrel, the light bouncing off as it spun in the early evening light that penetrated the unwashed curtains.
'now tell me boy, I'm real curious, why do you have a revolver?'
I shook my head, holding out my left hand, brushing my hair away from my face with my fingers on my right 'it was a gift'
'a gift?' he frowned 'funny fucking gift' I had no reply 'boy, you see that there' his stubby fingers pointing to where the guns registration number had been grinded off
'that there is where they removed the guns number' his eyes darted from my gaze to the gun and back again 'this here was a murder weapon' his grip loosened on the gun as he stood up
'tell me boy, you planning on killing someone?'
He leaned closer to me his warm breath next to my ear as he whispered 'you gonna kill me boy? That what your gonna do? That what you're planning.... Better go through with it if you are' he snarled through his gritted teeth
I turned my head slightly to his, and shook it in response to his question 'no Joe, I'm not'
He did a gentle laugh 'funny joke kid, i don't believe you'
He grabbed my hands and placed the handle in the revolver, my finger on the trigger and pressed the tip of the gun firmly into onto his forehead. As he sat on the arm of his chair. 
'you grown some balls have you boy? Go on, do what you got the gun for' his eyes looked up to me, the gun pressed hard between his over grown eyebrows. I pressed it harder against him
'your clearly not my boy, you got no fucking balls, you think you're so much better than me don't you? So much smarter' he slurred, his gaze growing more and more intense, now leaning into the barrel of the gun, blood welling around it as it dug into the unwashed pores of his brow
'you think your whore of a mother was a Saint, don't you?' 
My grip round the handle tightened 'don't you speak her name' 
'boy, listen to me, your mother, was a filthy whore, she fucked a married man who she thought loved her, thought she was his fucking everything, but he'd never leave his wife, not for your mother, she told him she was pregnant and he moved away, with his wife, with the children he actually wanted, no one's gonna leave their wife for your ugly mother'
My back teeth grinding against each other, every fiber of my body stopping me pulling that trigger
'i used to put a pillow over her face when I fucked her, stop the ugly bitch looking at me'
He laughed
I pressed the gun harder into his ugly fucking face 
'here's the kicker though boy, she never worked out that the man she was letting shoot his load up her was married, I mean come on, how fucking stupid was she?' 
My finger tightened on the trigger
'don't speak about my mother like that, don't you ever speak about her'
He smiled up at me, a gun to his head, I was in control and he was smiling
'go on boy, you pull that trigger, your going to Prison for life, put us both out of our misery' 
I pressed even harder, his head arching back under the pressure. 
'fucking do it boy' 
Everything he had done to my sweet mother, everything he'd put her through, everything he'd done to me I was reminded of in that moment, so I pulled the trigger, my finger tightened, pulling the trigger right back, the hammer slamming down on the bullet, but nothing, just a click. 
His face looking up at me, a wry smile creeping up over his face and then he said one word
'bang' 
My hand went limp I stood back, he should be dead, I should have killed him, but no, he stood up next to me
'you'd have fucking done it too? I'm. Impressed, your stupid, but I'm impressed' 
With that he swung for me, the flat of his shovel like hand beating down on my head, sending me straight for the floor
'you think....' 
He grabbed a handful of my hair and lifted me by it, I could feel chunks being ripped from the follicles until his face was next to mine
'.... I'd give you a loaded gun?' 
He kicked me in the stomach, winding me, then with is free hand punched me in the face, I tried rolling up into a ball, but for a drunk waste of oxygen like Joe, I've got to give it to him, he was fast.  His hand slipped from my hair as I scurried away into the kitchen, the cold floor under my palms, Joe right behind me, then with his knees resting on my chest, digging into me, me, unable to breathe, gasping for air he continued to beat me, until he was out of breath. My blood on his raw knuckles. He stood up. 
His shadow over me, I didn't let out a single sound. If I'd have begged for him to stop, he wouldn't have. So I took it, I took ever punch to the face, to the torso, to my legs. Blood pouring from my nose, bruises scattered over my body, unable to open my swollen left eye, possible fracture to my ribs and wrist where he'd stamped full force on me.
He walked back into the living room and back to his chair, where holding the gun, he'd fall asleep into a deep alcohol induced slumber. 
In the middle of the night I slipped it from his hand along with the bullets he'd placed on the fireplace, hid it in the back garden in a small hole.
In the following months he'd ask where I hid it, sometimes getting violent to get his answer, but I got used to his beatings, almost complacent. The next time Joe would see that gun it would be loaded, I'd make sure of it.