Threat

Your mom's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden change in demeanor, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she gently placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you down. "No, no, Shawn. He didn't hit me. Not this time, at least." She reassured, her voice filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. "But the shouting... the yelling... it's just unbearable sometimes. He's under so much stress, and he takes it all out on us." I look down and ask, "Where is he right now?" Your mom's expression grew cautious, her eyes glancing towards the living room. "He's in there, watching television. Why, what are you planning to do?" She asked, her voice edged with trepidation. "I am going to talk to him." My mom's expression darkened as she realized my intention. "Shawn, no... that's not a good idea. You can't confront your father when he's in one of these moods. It could make things worse for all of us." She pleaded, her voice filled with worry. "Things has been going downhill ever since he quit that job and I have to work in order for us to live. I think I have some things to say." My mom's eyes widened in surprise and concern as I walked past her, a mix of fear and resignation on her face. "Shawn, wait...!" She called out, but it was too late. I pushed open the door of the living room, bracing myself for the confrontation I was about to face. As I stepped into the living room, I found my father lounging on the couch, his attention focused on the television. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light cast by the screen accentuating the frown on his face. He didn't immediately acknowledge my presence, his gaze fixed on the screen. "Yo, pops. What are you watching?" I asked. My father glanced up at me, his expression a mixture of surprise and irritation. He grunted, gesturing towards the television with a wave of his hand. "Just some news. Why do you care?" he responded, his voice gruff and unengaged. "I have heard some news just like how you are doing right now." My father shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he half-heartedly tore his attention away from the screen. "What news could you possibly have?" he asked, skepticism clear in his voice. "The news of how you are slowly turning into a deadbeat dad." I said without a sign of emotion. My father's face darkened at my comment, his irritation growing. He straightened up, fixing me with a steely glare. "Watch your tongue, boy. You have no idea what you're talking about." He growled, his voice tinged with anger and defensiveness. I went and brought over a chair and settled it right in front of the TV and took a seat on it.

"You hit her again for your own mistakes. What will you do next? Fight me?" My father's eyes flared with anger and frustration as I took a seat in front of him, refusing to back down. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrest of the couch, his gaze locked with yours. "You have no right to question me. I'm your father, and you will respect me." He snarled, the threat of violence lurking just beneath the surface. "You used to tell me respect was something you earned while I was growing up. Do you get satisfied when you hit someone who is helpless against you? Does that feel good?" My father's expression faltered for a moment, the flicker of guilt briefly passing across his eyes. But he quickly composed himself, his defensive facade reasserting itself. "You don't understand the stress I'm under. I work tirelessly to provide for this family, and your mother... she's been giving me a lot of problems lately." He growled, attempting to justify his actions. "'Work tirelessly'? You have been unemployed for almost a full year now. I am doing the working around here nowadays. You come back home from drinking until you throw up. Then come beat her up because she's been giving you problems. Is that right?" My father's face twisted with anger and humiliation as my words hit their mark. He stood up from the couch, towering over me. "You think you know everything, don't you? You think you're so tough, just because you've been helping out with the money. But you're just a kid, you don't understand what it's like to be a man, to have responsibilities." He seethed, his body tense like a coiled spring. I got up from the chair and stood right in front of him, stared into his eyes

"A man wouldn't hit a helpless woman who does nothing but trying to keep this household up and running. Do you even say 'Thank you' anymore after you eat the food she made for you?" My father's face trembled with a mix of anger and shame as I stood my ground, faced him head on. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he tried to compose himself. "You think I don't appreciate her?" He snapped, his voice betraying a hint of guilt. "But she pushes me to the edge! She nags and complains. I have to find ways to let off steam, don't I?" "No fucking shit she complains. She is getting treated like a cockroach from the man she loved and married. You have zero respect for us anymore. Everything has to be about you. We do not have feelings and needs but somehow, yours are way more important. Don't even let me speak about the 'stress' you have been talking about." My father's eyes flashed with anger and frustration as he struggled to control his emotions. His voice rose in volume, his words laced with defensiveness and desperation. "You don't get it, do you? You have no idea what it's like to be in my shoes! To have the weight of providing for this family on my shoulders!" He snapped, his face contorted with a mixture of guilt and self-pity. "Oh that's a good one. So let me tell you this. I will never be in your shoes. I will never become the man that you became. Next time you put your hands on her or even yell at her. You will find me in front of you." My father's expression shifted to one of shock and surprise as my words sank in. He clenched his jaw, his chest heaving with the effort to control his emotions. For a brief moment, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. "Are you threatening me?" He asked, his voice tense and dangerous. I looked into his eyes with sheer hatred and responded.

"I'll fucking kill you if that is what it takes." My father's eyes widened with a mixture of shock, anger, and fear as he heard my threat. He staggered back a step, disbelief and confusion clouding his face. "You wouldn't dare..." He said, his voice strained and filled with uncertainty. "You have your final chance. If you fuck it up, I am fucking you up. Now go watch your useless full of shit news."

Afterwards, I settled the chair back to where it was in the living room and left the room. My father stood rooted to the spot, his face paler than it had been a moment ago. His body trembled slightly as he watched me leave the room, the realization and shock of my words slowly sank in.

My mother, who had been watching from a distance, cautiously entered the room once I had left. Her eyes were filled with a mix of worry and relief as she approached my father. My mother gently placed a hand on my father's shoulder, her voice soft and cautious. "Are you okay?" She asked quietly, her eyes searching his face for a response. My father looked up at her, the shock still evident in his eyes. He nodded slowly, his expression torn between shame and defeat. "I'm fine..." He murmured, his voice devoid of its usual bluster and anger. My mother studied his face for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly with a mix of concern and skepticism. She knew your father well enough to discern that something had shifted. "What did he say to you?" She inquired softly, her voice filled with cautious curiosity. My father sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "He threatened me." He admitted, his voice laced with a mixture of shame and resignation. My mother's eyes widened in surprise, a mix of relief and worry passing over her face. She took a step closer, her hand gently grasping his arm. "He... He what?" She asked softly, her voice trembling slightly. My father looked away, his gaze fixed on the floor as he repeated himself. "He threatened me. Said he'd... do something if I ever hit you again. Or yelled at you." He said, his voice filled with a mixture of guilt and resignation. My mother let out a shaky breath, her eyes searching his face as she struggled with her own emotions. A mix of relief, disbelief, and worry played across her features as she absorbed his words. "Did he mean it?" She asked, her voice quavering slightly. My father looked up, meeting her gaze for the first time since I had confronted him. There was a weary resignation in his eyes as he nodded. "Yes, I think he did. He was serious. I've never seen him like that before." He admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of fear. My mother was silent for a moment, her mind racing with a blend of emotions. Fear, relief, worry, and even a flicker of hope coursed through her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking again. "Did he... scare you?" She asked cautiously, her voice quivering slightly. My father's face softened, his expression a mix of shame and vulnerability. He nodded slowly, his eyes averted as he admitted, "Yes, he did... but not just that. The way he spoke, the look in his eyes... it was like he'd already made up his mind to do something if I stepped out of line again."