My father was acting like his know it all stuck up self again.

"See, I know psychology son. I'm a lot more advanced than you," my father said, giving me a smile. "I got a degree in Harvard, did I not? Now see--" And the rest I drowned out with my music, shifting away from him on the couch. I didn't want to hear him anymore. I was honestly getting ready to flip out on him.

I was listening to "Weight of the World" by Young Guns. That made me feel better than listening to him ramble on about things he knows that he swears makes him so great. He's annoying.

"You see!" my father said as he tore out the earbuds from my ears, pissing me off ever more. "This is exactly why your mother left us! You were so inconsiderate about her feelings!"

"She left you, because YOU were inconsiderate," I replied. "She made it clear she didn't want to stop seeing me. You just won the court custody case."

"Watch your tone with me, boy," my father snapped at me. I rolled my eyes and turned away from him.

"Anyway, as I was saying--" And I put the headphones back in again. He was always mentally abusing me, and I knew this was abuse because of the many articles I've read online about narcissistic parents. Soon, very soon, I would be able to go off into the world. College would be my escape. It was the only way I'd find light in the dark of this world.

My father took one headphone out of my ear and said, "Get out of my sight. Go to your room. Now. You're acting like a child, with this headphone crap!" I didn't need to be told twice. He was about to give a lecture on psychology and how he was so much smarter than I was. I didn't want to be anywhere around him, so I got up and went upstairs to my room. I slammed the door and lay down on my bed.

Some narcissists were subtle with what they do. My father, when it came to me, was all out there. He did not once hide the fact that he thought he was above me. I mean, he said I was above every student in my school and that I was better than them, but when it came to who was superior in our family, it was him.

I remember the day my mom was fed up with him. It happened five years ago, when I was 13. My mom and dad started arguing over a scratch on the family car.

"We might need to get something to cover up that scratch on the car," my mom said, putting food down on the breakfast table. It was one of the typical American breakfasts. Blueberry pancakes with some bacon, and orange juice. Milk on the side too, if we wanted some.

"Skylar, you and I both know that it was you who scratched the car," my father cooed. "I am a great driver, so I would never make a scratch on that car."

"You hit a garbage can coming in the garage this morning, I heard you!" my mother said.

"No, babe, it was your fault, learn to deal with your mistakes," he said to her, chuckling.

"You're projecting 'babe,'" she growled. "You NEVER deal with your mistakes. If we were to go bankrupt and lose our house, you would blame me!"

"Well, see, if you were a single mom or with another guy, maybe that would happen, but you're with me, so that'll never happen," he replied. My mother looked at him in pure disgust. Breakfast was no longer breakfast anymore. It was now the time to take cover from my mother's rage.

"You disgust me!" she shouted. "You don't think you can make a mistake? Ohh that's right, you CAN'T make a mistake. You're too high and mighty for the rest of us out in the world!" Her sarcasm leaked into every word she spoke.

"Listen, babe, you need to stop shouting," he snapped at her. "You started this fight, so I think it be time you end it by apologizing."

"Oh, so it was I who started it?" my mother asked incredulously, standing up. "All I said was we might need to get something to cover the scratch up. You jumped into all of this nonsense by throwing accusations!"

"Sit. Down. Lower your voice, and apologize," he said, glaring at her.

My mother shouted, "F**K YOU!" and then went upstairs.

"You're being ridiculous!" my father shouted. He ran up the stairs after her, leaving me to contemplate on what was going on with our family.

She did start something. She knew my dad was crazy. She knew how he'd react. I wonder if she got into that argument on purpose to get a divorce and/or start the process for one.

Either way, I'll never blame her for it.

It wasn't long after that when my mother discussed divorce and custody. Of course my dad, with his persuasiveness, won the judge over in court. He kept the house, and my mom had to fend for herself. She had to go live with her parents for a while. I'd visit them on the weekends, and that's all the time I was given to see my mom.

I was snapped back into reality when my dad came into my room.

"Go to sleep; you have school tomorrow," he said. He slammed my door, and I obeyed, considering I was really tired anyway, and slowly drifted off to sleep.