What do you think of the first part of my story.?

Please Critique it for real.

When I woke up, the TV was still on.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch last night. Again. Waiting. Always waiting for him.

He said he would be back.

Lie.

He said he couldn’t wait to see us again.

Lie.

He said he loved me.

The biggest lie of all.

My mother and I both knew where he was.

With her. Gina.

I twisted on the couch to look up into my mother’s ragged eyes. She wasn’t really much older than 38, yet she looked near 50 in the glow of the rising sun outside our picture window. Her hair was once a gorgeous golden blonde that fell over her shoulders in lush, thick locks. Her eyes were once as blue as the Texas sky, and seemed to stretch as deep as it is wide. She rocked nervously in her mother’s old wooden rocking chair on the hard wood floor. Each creak seemed to count another step, another second he was gone.

Creakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreakcreak.

She starred out the window towards the sunrise. Her eyes fixed on the horizon. My mother has always been free spirited, the type that flew wherever the winds would take her, and now there was a great and howling wind pushing against her, pushing her down into her creaky rocking chair. Yet, despite him, she desperately needed to open her wings and fly east. Over the golden sunrise.

“Do it mom,” I could hardly keep from saying it. “Free us both. Fly over the horizon.” But of course, she wouldn’t. I knew exactly what she would do.

He would come home around seven o’ clock AM. Of course he would be drunk. Of course he would be angry. She would run to him, hug him, kiss him maybe. She would open her eyes wide, full of hope. “Now my dear John,” she would say “what on Earth kept you out so late, sugar?” A wide happy smile would spread across her face as she would stroke back a strand of his hair and touch his face with all the love in the world. He, on the other hand, would look at her in disgust, as he always did when he needed nothing from her. “Get away from me you ******* hoar!!” he would scream, as he would throw her aside. “I need nothing from you God damn it!!” As she would try to pull herself up, he would kick her hard in the legs and ribs, causing her to scream out in pain, which would usually wake me, if I wasn’t already up. I would run in and pull my mother to the couch, all the while, my drunken step-father would attack me with slurred curses and threats. After he settled down a bit, he would seize my mom and take her to their bed, where I could hear her forced moans echo through the house.

But that wouldn’t happen this time. This time, I had a plan.

It was stashed under the couch I was on.

I could grab it the minute he came at my mother. I could say he would have killed us both.

A car door slammed outside, and I reached down to wrap my hand around the handle of my father’s handgun.