A warm bed greets me as I open my eyes to an oatmeal white ceiling. Sitting up and looking around I find myself in my childhood bedroom.

A single twin size mattress rests on the floor. The only other piece of furniture in the room is a dresser my grandma left me before she died.

The only light in the room is provided by the curtainless and blindless window.

Outside of the room I hear the familiar snores of my father. The sound brings a sense of peace to me.

I leave the room placing my feet carefully as I do. I avoid all the creaky floor boards as I make my way through the house I grew up in.

I walk into the living room to find my father passed out on the couch. An empty bottle of beer lay toppled over next to him. The room reeks of alcohol.

Habitually, I start collecting the empty cans and bottles from the room. If my dad woke up to a mess he would be upset.

Why should he have to clean up the house when he pays the bills? My job is to keep the house clean and in working order while his is to pay the bills.

I throw the trash away in the kitchen and search the fridge for food. I make my dad a breakfast of eggs and bacon as it’s all that’s left in the fridge.

His snoring stops just as I turn the stove top off. His footsteps sound heavy as he walks down the hallway and into the bathroom. Then they grow louder as he walks into the kitchen.

I place the plate I made for him on the table where he plops himself down. He digs into the food as I wash the dishes left in the sink. He finishes his food without a word and leaves the kitchen filling me with relief.

It’s always stressful being around him. I take the plate off the table and wash it too. Once done I check the clock on the stove top and realize that I’m running late for school.

Dad doesn’t like being bothered by the school. So I’ve maintained perfect attendance and have never been late.

Not since an incident in the seventh grade. He threw away the books I took home from the library for that. I was then beat because the school called about payment for the books.

I return to my room and quickly throw on clothes for the day. As I head to the door I hear my dad turn on the TV and some news show starts playing. He has a day of TV and alcohol ahead of him while I have a day of school.

Dad was hurt at his old job a few years back. Because of that he gets a monthly disability check from the government. It’s not much but it keeps the lights on and the water running, most of the time.

My feet pound on the sidewalk as I run to school. The walk is usually thirty minutes and I always try to leave early. However today I seem to have overslept and couldn’t leave without making dad something to eat.

My race to school is uneventful. I walk into my classroom just as the bell rings. Drops of sweat slide down my face tickling me as they do so. I wipe the sweat off and try to focus on the topic of class today.

However, I catch some kids behind me talk about me. Making comments about my sweat and smell.

I feel my face burn with embarrassment. Do I really smell that bad? Tomorrow I’ll wake up earlier to try and shower.

I push them out of my awareness. It’s best to ignore. It can’t hurt if you ignore it.

The teacher starts lecturing us on chemical reactions. The topic is fairly fascinating to go over once you look past the math. How different elements combine and react with one another forms everything around us. It helps with ignoring the comments of the kids behind me.

Humans wouldn’t be humans without chemistry. The universe wouldn’t be what it is if things didn’t react with one another in the specific way that it has. Just thinking about it blows my mind.

That’s the biggest thing I like about school. You can learn fascinating wondrous things that just make you think. The wonders of the universe are freely accessible.

Sure there are people here to bug and annoy you. But you should ignore them. Books and facts don’t annoy or bother you. Focus on them.

I make a mental note to find some books in the library about chemistry during lunch. The rest of the lesson passes by with no issues. I take notes on the lecture and accept the homework given to me.

After chemistry I have algebra two and we’re going over mathematical proofs . I know most people don’t like them but I find them kinda fun. They’re kinda like solving a puzzle. And they’re easy to get lost in.

Halfway through math the teacher gets a phone call. All of us students are focused on writing down the material from the projection while the teacher talks. Once he’s finished with the phone he tells me to go to the office.

My heart sinks as I pack my stuff. My mind races as I try to figure out what's going on. I walk to the office worried that I’m in some kind of trouble or worse my dad is here.

Once in the office I find the counselor and a new person standing and talking to one another. Once they notice me they turn to me and a smile cracks their faces. I can’t help but feel that their smiles are a little disingenuous.

“Ah Joel, thank you for coming down.” The counselor says. “This is Mrs. Blanchard. She’s from the state and is here to talk to you about your recent assessment test scores.”

“Hi Joel, it's a pleasure to meet you. Would you mind following me to the teachers break room?” Mrs. Blanchard asks.

I give a stiff nod, still unsure what this is about. Do they think I cheated or something?

Once in the room Mrs. Blanchard takes a seat and motions for me to do the same. I sit down and eye her skeptically.

“Don’t worry you’re not in trouble. Did you know that you scored remarkably well on that recent assessment test?” She asks me.

“No.” I say.

“Well you did. One of the highest scores I’ve seen in a while. I was so impressed by them that I wanted to come down here and meet you myself and maybe even test you a little more.”

“Why?”

“Because you may qualify for more advanced classes but we need to see just where you are compared to the others.”

A frown appears on my face. Do I really have to take more tests because I did well? Wouldn’t it make more sense to give me less tests as I’ve proven I know the material.

“Don’t worry, they're not particularly hard tests and they won’t reflect poorly on you. They’re just assessments on your critical thinking abilities and to see where you are in the material.” Mrs. Blanchard says.

She pulls out a stack of papers and slides them over to me.

“The test is in three sections. You’ll have forty minutes per section and a break in between each one.”

She takes out a timer and sets it in between us.

“Take your time and don’t stress about not finishing the sections. They’re designed so you won’t be able to. They’ll get harder the further into them you get. The first section is a cognitive reasoning assessment. The second is a math benchmark assessment. And the final section is your reading and critical thinking assessment.” She rattles off.

Without being given a choice to take the tests or not she starts the timer. Leaving me to work through the tests in silence. The first section is filled with weird riddles and puzzles while the next is a basic math test. The last section feels like a basic reading test filled with short answer responses.

Once I finish one section she starts grading it while I get a break. By the time I’m done I’m told that I can return to my classes. The rest of the day passes by leaving me filled with slight annoyance at having to miss my lunch in the library.

While my last class of the day winds down my teacher gets a call. She turns to me while on the phone and nods her head then hangs up.

“Hey Joel, can you go to the office real quick?” She asks me.

I walk to the office annoyed at being called over a second time. Once there I find Mrs. Blanchard animatedly talking to the counselor and principal. When I walk in, the three turn to me.

“Oh Joel I have fantastic news.” Mrs. Blanchard says. “You scored extremely high on those tests. You qualify for upper level classes. Sadly this school doesn’t offer you those classes. However, we think we have a solution.”

She beams at me making me feel awkward.

“There's a program that the highschool in the city offers. You’ll be allowed to remotely take their upper level classes. Isn’t that fantastic?” The counselor says.

I stare at them in silence. Unsure what to say. I was excited at the prospect of being challenged more in classes and learning more. But a part of me was scared how my dad would react to the news.

“We’ve already contacted your father about this. Starting next semester you’ll be taking the other school’s advanced classes.” The principal says.

My heart drops. Any hope I had of keeping this from my father vanishes. The words of the three are drowned out by memories of my father yelling at me for asking him questions.

He always hated my curious side. He got mad at me for doing homework at home. He would yell at me if he caught me reading.

The three’s conversation dies down after a while.

“You should head back to class Joel.” The counselor says.

I nod and return to class. The rest of the period passes as the panic in me builds. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see my dad but I know putting it off will only make it worse.

I once tried to run away from home when I was in the fourth grade. One of my neighbors saw me and called my dad who came after me. That was probably the second worst beating he’s ever given me.

I walk home imagining the death-like state I dream of almost every other day. Where I am nothing in nothingness doing nothing and feeling nothing.

The white door of our trailer home greets me with a sense of foreboding.I take a deep breath and enter.

The sound of the TV greets me as I walk into my home. As the door closes the TV grows quiet and I fight the urge to shiver. He doesn’t like it when I shake.

My dad appears in the hallway that leads to the front door. He stands tall, somewhere over six feet. Long dark hair hides his dark piercing eyes. Aside from the beer belly that he’s grown over my life he would probably be described as handsome. That is if he took care of himself.

I feel his stare on me and can’t help but to look away. He walks closer to me bringing with him the smell of something alcoholic.

“So you’re some sort of genius?” He asks.

His tone is flat making it hard to tell what he’s feeling. Taking a glance at his eyes from behind his bangs I read annoyance in them. My stomach drops as he stands above me.

His hand flashes out grabbing a handful of my hair. My scalp screams in pain as he pulls up on the hair. My eyes water in pain as I feel myself forced backwards. My back hits the door in an explosion of pain.

“You’re just like your bitch of a mother. Thinking she’s smarter than everyone around her.”

My eyes open to see his dark eyes burning with rage. I nod hoping that if I agree with him my punishment will be lessened.

“You’re nothing. You were born from nothing and will always be nothing.” He says

“I’m sorry.” I say.

“You will be. Bring me the stick.”

He lets go of my hair. I nod and walk to the kitchen. Laying against the wall near the door to the kitchen is a long brown stick. Flexible enough to not break easily but strong enough to do some damage. I grab it and bring it back to him.

“Give me your hands.”

I present him with my hands.

He swings the stick down across my knuckles. The pain is instant and intense. I want to scream but that spurs him on. Makes him hit me more or longer. If I can just hold out he’ll grow bored or tired and leave me be.

He snaps the stick over my hands over and over. When he’s done I’m fighting back tears and watching blood drip from my knuckles.

“You aren’t special. You aren’t some genius. You’re just like your mom. An annoying little bitch who thinks she’s too good. Go clean yourself up and put this back.”

He throws the stick at me. It hits me in my head causing a small burning pain. I pick it up off the ground weakly. The act of closing my fingers around the wood feels almost as painful as being struck by it.

“Yes sir.” I say.

I put the stick back and go to the sink. I run my hands under the cold water. I hear the TV turn back on and feel relief wash through me.

“Get dinner ready soon.” He calls out through the house.

“Yes sir.” I call back.

Silent tears fall down my face and into the pink water running down the drain. Anger rises in me as I push into the open wounds on my knuckles. Why did I ever take that test? Why do I have him for a father? I hate my life.

But he’s right. I’m nothing. I’m not strong like him. I’m lucky that he’s willing to keep me fed and gives me a place to sleep.

The anger in me dissipates as I push it down. It's easier to ignore it. To ignore the desire for release from my father. To ignore self loathing. To ignore it all.

Embrace the pain. Let it wash away the anger.

My nail digs deeper into the open wound. Eliciting more pain from me.

The dream fades as I open my eyes to the tiled ceiling of my little conference room. I shake the memory out of my head and focus on the present. There’s nothing for me in the past.