Razor Blade Romance

Blood red tears fell from the razor's edge; they joined the small river running down Dylan's arm. The house was silent for once; a blessed relief. He slashed at his skin again, watching the beautiful crimson beads appear and fall from his skin. He glanced at the clock on the wall, it was nearly five and he knew that unless he wanted a bottle thrown at him he should go upstairs. 1

Dylan was an only-child, his brother had been killed in a nursery massacre when Dylan was five. At the time he didn't understand what his mother was trying to tell him but as he grew older it had sunk in. After that incident, his father, Paul, had begun drinking a lot. Now, he didn't even work, he just went out in the morning, drank and came back early to drink even more at home. He hated Dylan, he hated the fact that he was Emo, he hated the fact that he was the one to survive. 2

Walking slowly up the stairs while wiping the blood off his arm with a cloth, Dylan wondered why his mother wouldn't just get a divorce, Paul beat her too, not as much as Dylan but enough for her to be bruised.
He just didn't understand; but neither did they. His mother would complain about his music and the way he dressed, his father would yell at him if he put even a foot out of line and normally throw bottles or hit him if he saw Dylan in Emo clothes. He'd threatened to burn all his poetry if he saw it again; so now he always kept it hidden.
As he plugged his stereo in and switched on Cancer Bats- Hail Destroyer, he heard his father stagger into the house, ranting to himself about something or other.
Dylan pulled his sketch book out from under his bed, it was filled with posters he'd made with Emo slogans on. He was drawing a picture of an Emo girl slitting with a razor when he heard his name being yelled from down stairs. Slipping the book away and turning his music down he walked half way down the stairs, he knew to keep just out of arms reach of his father even when he wasn't like this. 3

"You!" His father yelled, pointing an accusing finger at him, "It's all your fault!" Dylan resisted the urge to roll his eyes, what the hell had he done this time? 4

"What's all my fault?" He asked, trying to keep the bitter note out his voice.5

"You're the reason she's gone, she just up and left this morning, there's note on the table! She says that she's going! Say's I can keep you! WHY THE FUCK WOULD I WANT TO KEEP YOU?!" He screamed. Dylan realized with a plummeting feeling that his mother had left, but why hadn't she taken him with her? 6

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a jackass to her then she would have stayed!" He yelled, the venom clear in his voice. Without another word he ran up the stairs and slammed his door shut. He lay back on his bed. Why the hell did he put up with this? Why didn't he just leave?
A thought came into mind. Or why didn't he just get rid of his father?