It's not your fault - REWRITE

Gons Pov

I racked my brain silently for a few seconds till I could find a good lie to cover up the bruise overtaking my face. I couldn't think of one, thus forth stammering "I-I fell down the stairs. At the night, it was dark so I couldn't see."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but shrugged it off and continued to engage in a different conversation with me. By the time our food arrived, I realized how not hungry I was. I felt kind of sick and woozy.

I studied Killua's hand as he reached for a slice of pizza. I followed his actions, grabbing at a small slice. Eating didn't make nausea any better, I had my cheek rested in my palm and teeth clenched to keep the bile from rising out of my throat.

He never seemed to notice my wavering appetite, getting distracted by sliding his hand under the table and grabbing mine. He posed no facial reaction, just silently intertwined our hands. On the other hand, I felt a heavy blush spread across my cheeks.

We stayed like that for a while, talking and enjoying each other's company. But good things always end, and we eventually had to part ways. With a final awkward hug. It took me almost another grueling 30 minutes to get myself home.

Like always, when I finally did get home, the house was eerily silent. I kicked my shoes off at the doorway. Standing at the doorway I peeked down the hall, but nothing. Not a soul was here. I pulled myself upstairs for the first time. Once at the top of the stairs I called "I'm home!!" And an immediate muffled response yelled back "Well get your ass in here!" It was less of a yell, more of a snarl or growl.

I raced to the room that I assumed my father was in, tripping on the last step of the stairs and coming dangerously close to falling down the staircase completely. I entered the room. It was a large bathroom with soft green painted walls and more importantly, my father was seated on the floor. A soft hum hung in the air as my dad turned to look at me.

Before I saw it his hand reached out and gripped a handful of my hair, I winced in pain while he used it like a guide to bring us face to face. "Gon, are you gay?" He asked, calm-voiced and straight-faced. I skeptically shrugged off the question, bring my hands up to pull on his wrist, and try to release his grasp.

"Good, I didn't raise you to be a part of that disgusting community." He said, finally letting go and patting my head instead. But he raised that same hand and brought it down sharply over my cheek, the noise echoed off the otherwise silent room while tears formed in my eyes.

"you didn't raise me at all..." I murmured, barely audible but filled with frustration. "You didn't even raise me!" I hissed more confidently but still frustrated. A sharp set of nails clawed into my arm and pulled me close up against him. Hot breath trailed down my skin and I brought my burnt leg out to kick him.

I severely miscalculated the force of my kick and it hit him in the gut, weakly bouncing off with a painful feeling staying. "First of all, didn't I already tell you how much I fucking hate disrespectful kids?" he hissed while pulling a pair of pliers off the counter. "Second of all, why do you try to lie? It makes both of us look like jokes to society!" he spat and clamped the pliers over my thumbnail.

"Third of all, I know a parts collector who's looking for nails for a little bit of cash," he said, more calmy than the yelling before. I thought it was a joke until I felt a tug on my nail. Then another one, accompanied by a ripping and blistering hot agony.

Blood rippled in a pool below me, my screams tore the air like daggers, and most of all, the raw pink flesh of my under-nail was exposed and burning in the contact of oxygen. I toppled over and writhed while clutching the injured hand. No amount of squirming and crying could make up for the waves of pain throbbing throughout my hand.

A hiss escaped my mouth as I was sharply grabbed. I lurched forward and sunk my teeth into his palm. The soft tissues caved under the pressure of my jaw and blood welled from his injury into my mouth.

He shook his arm vigorously in an attempt to release my grasp, but only received the ripping of his flesh. He raised the pliers and brought them down over my forehead. I reflexively brought my hands to the spot of impact, retracting and giving a chance for him to also pull his bloodied palm back.

Whilst gripping it to suppress the bleeding he hissed out "Did you already forget? Are you that stupid? Do you not remember that I do this because I love you? You just love hurting your father...I can't believe you."

My heart sunk low in my chest, I felt guilty now. I was truly disrespecting his words. My hand bled onto the ground and I stood on my knees and walked over to him. My eyes were teary with pain, and I clenched my teeth because of it too. But I managed to stammer out "I-I'm sorry. I won't hurt you again. Never."While reaching out for a hug. 

He put no effort into the affectionate gesture, but stayed still and accepted it. "I'm sorry," I murmured one more time. I just wished to stay on his good side, and that he would find an alternate method of showing love other than this cycle of pain and hurting me emotionally and physically.

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