Love In disguise

(Note: If you don't see the message I'm trying to convey, I totally understand.) 

A father, a son. Seems normal

but past the belt whips, the bruised hips, the tired knees the angry waves of violent screams, a swig of whisky, that second beer, and suddenly a father, has become a staggering dealer of fear. Dread passes through me when I see his face, his eyes red and droopy in his drunken state. A stinging smack sends me to the floor, through my tears and fears he yells "You want some more?" He acts as though I'm the bullied kid and he's the jock, in this highschool of family that's supposed to be locked together with a bond between father and son, where others see sanctuary, I see none. My head is beating, bleeding, pounding pain surrounding my every sense as I try to convince myself to get up, stand up, take a stand, show this old bastard what it means to be a man. But, I sit there, nose bleeding missing three teeth, he stands over me, breath heavy with the scent of sweet whiskey. I stand to my feet and wash of my face, I say "I'm ready for the next on, pick a place." I point to a place that's not been injured yet, the point over my heart is a bruisless patch that draws his drunken eyes to my face asking me, "what have I done?" I tell him to sober up and think about the times when his whiskey beat me down and formed a love in disguise.