daddy's weird again. third time this week. i don't know what's going on because everything he says is slow and slurred; it's hard to understand him. and his breath is awful! smells like something died in there and someome poured over a bottle of alcohol. mummy's not home yet, but she said the last time all i can really do is go to my room and wait for it to pass. whatever it is that's wrong. so, i'm locked in my room. should i be worried? well, i'm a little scared. daddy seemed quite unstable on his feet the last time i saw him; i don't want him to fall and break something.

but i guess it'll pass.


happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear dallas, happy birthday to me!

he has no idea, i see it in his eyes. that his son is eleven today. he doesn't care, as long as there's something in his glass. rum, whiskey, vodka, beer - my dad isn't picky. i guess i kind of got used to it by now, because there's no other option. mum still works two shifts, occasionally even more to put something aside. and i'm here. alone. school, classes, then back. he ignores me most of the time, so i actually have it easy. mum, on the other hand... it's a slap here and there. yelling. the - the other thing. you know what. i'm worried, but she says it's fine. she says he'll get better.


he didn't get better. it's not fine. he pushed her down the stairs. she's gone.

(and i'm so, so, so scared.)


i think i'm falling i fell in love.


his name is kyle. i like the way he stares in the distance when he smokes and the slight rasp of his voice. and his tattoos, yes, i love them too. he let me trace the outline of a beautiful rose on his abdomen today and i... i got a boner. but i think he wasn't all that chill about it either.


i've been living with him for exactly two years and i'm still one tattoo short.

i love him, though. i really do.


it still hurts, both physically and emotionally. it's been exactly six hours and twenty-two minutes and i still haven't calmed down completely. my dad used to hit my mum like that and i know it's wrong, so i tried to tell him. talk. he punched me again, this time going for my mouth.

six hours, twenty-three minutes and five drops of blood.


he killed him. he killed my father. it's... i don't know what this is. he meant nothing to me, or at least close to nothing, but i didn't want him dead. kyle just lost it when he broke into our apartment, yelling about mum and how i'm the one responsible for her death. that i was there and i should stop him. that he didn't mean to. i wanted to believe; kyle didn't allow me to. beat him up till his face was just a bloody mess.

what am i supposed to do? i still love him.


i left chicago after our last fight. packed my bag, since i don't have much anyway, and just left. ron knows - i had to tell him that i quit. he said he's gonna miss me, that i was one of the best inkers. i'm gonna miss him too, as well as the other mates and regulars. but shadow creek seems nice. small in comparison to chicago, which is both good and bad, but definitely nice. that's what i need. a nice new start.

i'm gonna miss kyle too. he's the closest i had to a family in the last 14 years. fuck.