Sorry to disappoint you cause no this isn't the winners.

1.22 K READS OMG IM FREAKING OUT NEVER THOUGHT THIS WAS POSSIBLE THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!!!!!!! So, in honor of that I though that if I can It would be cool if I myself could write and entry for my prompts. Please please please do tell me if y'all like it cause I don't write in 3rd person, but I decided to try it out so please tell me what you think. Obviously it won't be counted, but this is my contest "entry" for Hidden Pain.

Zeke was woken violently with a knife embedded in his pillow. He sighed and sat up in bed, cursing at himself for sleeping in again.

"I won't miss next time." An awfully familiar voice barked from just outside his room.

Zeke change out of his pajamas, hoping as he did everyday that this day would be different. It was useless wish, but it was all that kept him going.

"I hope I won't be going to work hungry!" His father hollered again.

Zeke gritted his teeth and ran into the kitchen. "Sorry." Was all he said before tossing two eggs into the frypan.

He poured the omlette into the plate and handed it to his father. His father said nothing. No gesture of thanks, he didn't even glance at his son.

Zeke was used to the silent treatment and went back into the kitchen, making his own meal as slow as possible.

Zeke stepped out of the kitchen and set his own breakfast on the table in time to hear his father getting the keys.

"Keep your stuff out of the way before I throw them out."

Zeke turned in time to see a flash of brown flying towards him. Before he could react the basketball hit him in the side of his face. Zeke caught his breath as the ball dropped to the ground. He slowly exhaled trying not to clutch his face pain.

His father stood at the doorway watching Zeke unflinchingly. He didn't do as much as blink when the ball hit him.

"I want the house clean when I get back," he said before leaving the apartment.

Zeke didn't relax till it had been atleast twenty minutes since his departure. He took an hour to clean the house, but knew it would look the same in a few nights.

**********

Once he had finished cleaning he glanced out the window to make sure his father's car wasn't in the parking lot for any reason. Once he was sure he silently snuck into his father's room. His heart hammered against his chest. Even alone a shadow of fear covered his heart.

He knelt down and opened his father's drawer. He brought and album and set it down on his lap. Opening it he saw what he was looking for.

Smiling back at him was a tall women with unruly black locks flowing around he shoulders. Zeke liked to believe that he looked mostly like his mother. They shared the same black hair with eyes to match, but that's where the similarities had ended.

Physically, he didn't look like any of his parents. He was tall, lean, and shy; nothing like his mother who stood proudly with broad shoulders and a crooked nose.

Sometimes Zeke wondered if things would be different if she was with him today. If she was still alive.

Now that he was alone, Zeke didn't try to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. He continued to flip through the album until the doorbell rang.

Panic and fear resonated in him. He hastily put the book away and ran to the restroom to wash his face. His hand was trembling when he went to open the door.

"Happy Birthday!"

Zeke flinched at the sudden noise, then smiled. His closest, and only, friend, Nik, stood at the doorway grinning. He carried a small cake about the size of two hands.

Zeke laughed and let Nik in, surprised he had remembered. He himself had forgotten of his eighteenth birthday.

Zeke was glad he had Nik to rely on. He didn't talk much at school and met Nik at basketball practice. From then on they were nearly inseparable at school. 

"When's your dad coming home?" Nik asked.

"Around nine, unless he stops at The Bar." Zeke shrugged.

"Then I'll get going at eight, until then we have the whole house to ourselves!" Nik gave Zeke his signature grin.

Nik knew of the tense relationship with Zeke and his father, but Zeke didn't like to talk about it and he didn't tell him much of it.

Saturday's had always been the ones day Zeke looked forward to, the one day where he was home but  his father wasn't. But this was no doubt the best day he had ever had.

At around 7:30 Nik helped Zeke clean up anything they had done. By the time they were done the house looked exactly like it had before Nik had arrived.

"See ya at school then." Nik waved, a bag of trash in his hand. He had offered to throw away any of the trash from the cake so that Zeke's dad didn't get suspicious.

**********

To Zeke's dismay, his father had come come home around 9:30. Though it was definite he had stopped at the bar for he staggered on his way in and stunk of whiskey.

Zeke continued to watch TV, acknowledging his father's arrival with a quick glance towards the door, but he continued to watch him through the corner of his eye.

His father walked towards the sink to get water. While chugging down the glass he suddenly put the glass down and looked down at the sink.

"Zeke?" His father called.

"Yeah?" Zeke looked up.

"Did anyone come to the house today?"

Zeke gulped in an attempt to stop his voice from trembling. "No, why?"

"Come here."

Zeke turned of the TV and walked towards him confused.

"Then where'd you get money to buy cake from?" He lifted up a knife covered in white cake and chocolate frosting.

Zeke bit his tongue. He thought he had cleaned everything up, guess he had forgotten to clean the knife.

"Show me your hand," his father growled.

Zeke didn't move.

"I said show me your hand!" This time he didn't wait for a reply and grabbed Zeke's wrist.

Zeke knew he'd be in more trouble if he resisted, so he let his hand loose. His father set the tip of the knife on his palm, letting a few crumbs fall off.

"So? Or are you going to claim I'm seeing things and say there's no cake on the knife?"

Zeke shook his head.

"I'll ask again. Was there someone here when I was gone?" He gently dug the tip into his palm.

Zeke nodded.

"Who?"

"Nik."

His father leaned forward to where Zeke could smell his wretched breath.

"Why'd you lie to me?"

Zeke stayed silent. He could feel the tip of the blade penetrate his skin, but he still didn't waver. He was glad his father was shorter than him. It made him, not alot, but slightly less intimidating.

"Don't ever lie to me again," his father hissed.

His father pulled the blade down, letting it swipe across Zeke's palm. Zeke stiffened and bit the inside of his cheek to stop from crying out.

"Room. Now!" His father barked and let his hand go.

Zeke clenched his teeth and turned around. He went to the restroom first to get the first aid kit. He was careful to not let any if the gushing blood drip onto the carpet.

He washed off his hand in the sink, trembling in rage. He could run away. He could resist his father, he could even attack back. Plus he was eighteen now, he had the full right to go live on his own. But a part of Zeke stopped him. A part of him believed that no matter what, he was still his father, and he had to respect that. And maybe, just maybe, one day he could change. Though as the days turned into years Zeke was finding that harder and harder to believe.

Zeke sighed and wrapped his in gauze, but within a few moments his hand had bored through the wrap. He washed his hands again and this time put cotton balls on the wound before wrapping with a few layers of the gauze.

He put the first aid kit away and went to bed, dreading the next day.

School days went as normal as it was possible for Zeke. By the time he came home from after basketball practice it was around 6 pm, even later if they had a game.  By that time his father was either not home, or if he was he was passed out drunk. Though once Zeke had been disgusted to find him flirting with someone he had picked up at The Bar.

Saturday's were the best. Unless Zeke had a game he could do whatever he wanted to before his father came home.

But Sunday's were the days he dreaded the most. Sunday meant a whole day locked in the house with his father.  Last Sunday his father had been drunk and nearly murdered him.

Zeke pushed the thoughts out of his head and hid under his covers. He was annoyed when the lights were turned on.

"I'll be going to the convenience store tomorrow, so I want breakfast early. And look at me when I speak." His father drawled.

Zeke pulled the covers away from his face. "Fine." He grumbled.

His father's expression turned into a scowl. "I've taken care of you for so many years. Fed you and clothed you when I didn't have to, and this is how you talk to me? Never forget, you're not supposed to even be here. You were the one that was supposed to die not her. You killed your own mother."

Zeke clenched his gifts under his blanket. "Yes sir." Zeke managed to say.

His father closed the lights and left the room.

He had never let Zeke forget that, and probably never would. Despite merely being seven when his mother had died, the memory was embedded in his head.

Zeke was crossing the road and had tripped. He clearly remembered his mother's gentle touch as she helped him up. The fear alit in her eyes as the car raced towards them. The last time she had embraced Zeke, turning her back towards the car. The sound if the crash and her shrill scream as she was flung into the air. But she never let go. She held Zeke close to her chest until her final breath.

**********

Zeke buried his face in his pillow trying to fall asleep, but the fear of sleeping him didn't let him. When he finally managed to fall asleep, he felt like he woke up immediately after.

It was an hour before his father would wake, so before going back to sleep he made his father breakfast and set it on the table. Hopefully he wouldn't have to wake up as early anymore.

**********

Zeke was impressed by how late his father had let him sleep. It was past 1 when Zeke got out of bed. He went to the restroom to change his gauze. His palm still stung at the touch, but he ignored it and peeked into the living room.

His father sat at the couch chugging down at a can of beer. Zeke shook his head exhasparated and went back to his room. Maybe he could pull the day out in here.

He grabbed his book and sat down on his bed. To Zeke's pleasure he was able to spend most of the day in his room until he was finally called out.

He sat down on the couch uncomfortably. His father didn't look up from his magazine.

"Your report card came in," he said scanning the cover.

Zeke didn't see what big deal was. He had been passing all his class with 90s except for...Calculus. He had never wanted to take that cursed class, but for some reason still ended up taking it.

Zeke never understood why his father even card about his grades. Probably just another reason to find excuses to get mad at him

"Uhm, yeah they said it would be coming in soon." Zeke tugged at his sleeves.

"You have a seventy-six in Calculus." He finally looked up from his magazine. "Why's that?"

"I failed the last test," Zeke replied meeting his father's stare.

"I see." Zeke was surprised by how calmly his father had replied. "This also came in the mail."

He handed Zeke an envelope that had already been torn open. Zeke took the letter out of the envelope confused.  Excitement coursed through him as he scanned through the letter.

Zeke had been accepted to Princeton University with a full scholarship. He had completely forgotten about his application.

"When did you apply?"

Zeke looked up and let his excitement drain.

"Almost a year ago," he replied knowing his father probably wouldn't let him go.

"I don't remember being informed of this." He threw his empty beer can into Zeke's lap.

Zeke fidgeted with the can unsure of what to say.

"I didn't think I would be accepted." Zeke managed to say. It wasn't completely a lie.

"I see."

Zeke was scared of the fact how calm his father seemed. That he hadn't once raised his voice or thrown something bigger and heavier than an empty beer can.

His father stood up and began to pace the room in thought. Zeke stiffened, bracing himself.

Zeke gulped. "Can I go? The next semester starts next year after graduation."

His father didn't reply. He simply turned to look at Zeke them sat back down. He grabbed another can of beer and tossed it to Zeke. Zeke caught it confused.

"You haven't had anything all day," he said.

Zeke was surprised. He assumed his father was having a good day, it happens once every two or three months.

"I'm fine," Zeke said reluctant to ever have beer, or any sort of alcohol in general.

"You're eighteen now aren't you? So there's nothing wrong with you drinking now."

So he had remembered.

"Yeah, but I don't want it," Zeke replied.

"Don't take advantage of me, this is the first and last time. Take it." His father growled.

Zeke tried not to scowl, but opened the can. He didn't understand why his father was so insistent to get him to drink it.

He grimaced at the stench and chugged down a few sips. Zeke swallowed it and coughed at the wretched taste. He set the can down and waited for a reply.

"So, can I?" He asked again.

"I'll think about."

Zeke waited for him to say something else, but he went back to his magazine. Zeke sighed and stood up. He went to the kitchen to dump out the contents of his beer can and throw away both his and his father's cans.

"Take this too." His father tossed another can at his back.

Zeke grumbled under his breath and picked it up.

**********

Zeke's father had returned to normal the next day.

Zeke had nearly burned his hands right before school because he was pushed out of the way by his father going to get water. He had left the house as soon as he could to leave. He was glad his school was only a block away from his apartment, otherwise it would've been torture to get to school every morning and get back home after basketball.

The school day went by fast, but practice not so much. Zeke had been confused to fin that Nik wasn't a practice. He was sure Nik was at school though for he had been there at lunch.

Nik had came running into the gym after about an hour, earning an earful from Coach Newsom. He had later explained to Zeke that he had been stuck in detention, earning the whole team an extra hour of practice.

Zeke didn't mind staying at practice late, but he felt like passing out after. Coach Newsom had spent the last half hour between running laps and excersises.

"That was exhausting!" Nik complained on the way out from the locker room.

"Well it sort of was your fault," Zeke reasoned.

"No it was Mrs. Peterson's fault! She hates my guts!" Nik rolled his eyes.

"Lemme guess, you were caught talking again?" Zeke shook his head exhasparated.

"Maybe." Nik beamed nervously. "Hey at least we still got the mid-practice break."

"I would've murdered you if we didn't." Zeke laughed playfully.

"Hey, that one time your dad called you home early Luke got in a fight with Coach and he didn't let us have a break." Nik shrugged.

"Well I'm glad I wasn't there then."

Nik led Zeke to his car and dropped him off at the apartment next to his as usual. If his dad saw Nik dropping him off, Zeke doubted he'd be physically able to go to school the next day.

"Hey, wait!" Nik stopped Zeke before he could get out of the car.

Zeke looked back his brows raised in question.

"What happened to your hand? You played with your left hand all day, not to mention miserably failing." Nik asked.

Nik was right. It had stung put and pressure or move his palm, especially after writing with that hand all day it was sore.

"Oh, it's nothing." Zeke shrugged it off. "Just a scratch, I cut my palm the other day while washing the knife."

Nik looked at Zeke suspiciously. "That doesn't look like a small scratch." Most of the time Nik could tell when Zeke was lying, and right now it was written all over his face that he was.

"That's a whole lot of wrapping for a small scratch." Nik stated.

"Yeah I wrapped it a little too much, but it's fine." Zeke tried to get out if the car again, but Nik locked the doors.

"You realize I can unlock it right?" Zeke said.

"Yeah. It was your dad wasn't it?" Nik asked staring at Zeke.

Zeke licked his lips."I forgot to wash the knife we used, and he found it. It's no big deal." Zeke left the car before Nik could reply

He didn't want anyone's pity, and Nik knew that so he didn't protest.

Zeke used the elevator to getting the twelfth floor, and as always he put his ear to the door before opening. It was silent at first then there was a roar of fury and the sound of breaking glass. Zeke flinched away, unsure if he wanted to go in.

He swallowed and opened the door slowly and silently. He held his breath as the door clicked when he went to shut it. Exhaling, he tried to walk to his room unnoticed.

Zeke froze when a bottle of wine shattered a few feet in front of him. He looked up to find his father turning the corner to face him.

His father's face was a shade of deep red, his eyes bloodshot.

"It's all your fault," he growled pushing Zeke to the wall.

Zeke inhaled sharply at the movement, but he understood immediately what was happening. His father had drank too much. He had completely lost it, and wouldn't remember a thing the next morning, and if he did remember he wouldn't care.

"She wouldn't have died if it wasn't for you!" He yelled pushing his hand into Zeke's chest.

Zeke debated his options. He could easily push his father away and leave, or he could just stay silent and wait till it's over. He decided on the latter, though knew the former was a much better option.

"Say something!" He hollered again raising a broken wine bottle in his other hand.

Zeke simply grunted at the pressure being exerted on his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut as the wine bottle came flying towards his shoulder. His father slammed the bottle against Zeke's bicep. The bottle shattered sending pieces of glasses flying. Zeke felt a piece embedded into his arm.

"Go to your room, and never show me your wretched face again." His father scowled.

Defiantly, Zeke pushed his father's loosened grip away and walked into the bathroom in front of him. Carefully he pulled out a small piece that was embedded into his arm, and dusted off what was on his shirt. He took a short shower and went straight to his room.

Zeke burrowed his face in his pillow furiously. He couldn't wait till the Princeton semester stared. It seemed like ages away, and living in dorms had always been more appealing to him than living here. And if his father said he couldn't go to Princeton, then that would be the time when Zeke left the house in front of his eyes with no intention to ever come back. Cause he was going to Princeton, whether his father liked it or not. He just hoped he would be able to survive this last year with him.

Please do take note that this isn't edited at all and maybe I could do better, but please tell me what you think and talk to to y'all next time!! 💖💖