Ha, you sound literally just like me. My father would never have touched my mother though, not in a god damn million years, but me, thats another story. I used to live filled with utter and complete rage. I, like you from an early age, promised, though I mean really promised that I would pay him back for it, all of it, in a few swift moments. I was going to break him, like he never did me, just like you I couldn't want for it, the thought of hearing him cry for the first time, him screaming to stop. Forcing him to tell himself that he is a childish girl who didn't even have an ounce of strength comparable to me. I knew that would break him, in a literal sense and I couldn't wait. When I was 13 though he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I was almost sad that life would take him before I had the chance. That bastard was crazy though, he would even try to get physical when he barely weighed 150 pounds, at that time though, fuck it at any time, I could never bring myself to ever touch such a sick and damaged man. I thought it was almost better that way, sure I didn't get to extract the punishment for his sins, physically with my hands like I had dreamed but it was fairly fitting. He was so healthy, big, strong, the kind of man who would die at age 132 if his luck had held, so I could see it in his eyes the way it ate at him that his "God" was taking him, after he was healthy and the like. I actually kind of hugged him, more so as a last act of kindness or maybe rather as a last act of domination(to still be the better man), at the time my bitterness and the frost that had long since hardened myself was finally beginning to thaw I suppose. One day, I believe a year and a half into his sickness, he was trying to fuck with me and this day I couldn't take it and let into the shit. He whipped a TV remote at my head which I could feel the breeze from, so I turned around and replied "God, your such a fucking faggot!". He was up in a second, surprising a sick man could move like that and he was already screaming something like "CALL ME A MOTHER FUCKING FAGGOT YOU LITTLE BITCH!"haha, in seconds though he crashed right through my door for the hundredth time, huffing and puffing. He just looked at me like he was ready to tussle, but I think he really noticed that day how much more bulky I was, because I just said "Nice job you broke down the door now what?" and instead of trying his sad old sick man can still fight routine in which I would just push him away, he said "So you fucker, all these years you've told me that theres nothing more you would wish for in this world than for me to be dead, now its coming true, are you happy big man, is this what you hoped for?". God damn, I looked him directly in the eyes and said "I honestly don't think anything could make me happier....!". He broke right there, I could see it in his eyes how bad that one stung, but that was something i've never understood about certain abusive characters, how they can really expect that its all just okay and when like OP your dad like mine would look me in the eyes and say "I know i've hurt you and you didn't deserve it at all, i'm so sorry and I love you so much.", that would always turn my stomach and I could only reply with something that would cut like "Welp, the feelings certainly aren't mutual.". I remember also a couple days before he died, my mother was like "Oh look his doctors said he was supposed to die days ago, i think hes hanging on....for you....to say you love him! Hes waiting!". God aren't people just totally fucked? She was there for a lot of it, so honestly at that moment I wanted to hit her in the face, to me it was like if someone raped her was close to me and on their death bed and I told her it was her last chance to tell 'em she loved 'em. All I can tell you is, I realized a year or so later that I was the eternal champion of those years. I was the winner, the one who never broken and who broke his the challengers that arrived to hurt him. I beat him with words, outwitting him with the truth. Cramming the truth of his sick sins down his throat whenever I could. I realized that while beating him would have had a primal satisfaction but that would be all. Today if anyone could look back they would see that not only was I often not very violent unless pushed to an extreme but that I was the bigger person....at age 10. To me thats a better feeling than knowing I cracked a couple of his ribs and made him cry like a little girl, that style of satisfaction only comes for minutes, its always fleeting. Plus you'll just be as low as he is. If one day he violently acts you unprovoked, fucking unleash your pent up fury on him like a maelstrom but until then just sit back and IMO just ignore him. Truly abusive people rarely change especially if their left around people they can continue to push around. Also if you haven't remove your mother from the situation, if you have to do so forcefully, like I said he isn't going to come to his senses and most people that fall into the "Oh I deserved it/etc" category of abuse usually just take it their whole lives and thats such a terrifyingly sad way to have to exist. Also maybe next time something happens just immediately call the police and inform him he'll be leaving but your tired of this and the next time it happens the police won't be there to just take him away to a cozy cell though may just escalate things so best to stick with non-violence. Oh and lastly like others said and I just be the bigger person, I forgot to add that this is so rarely instantly rewarding but years down the road when you think back to it, you'll only feel great about yourself and the way you handled things. Its also like an invisible medal for you to wear on your chest to remind that your a strong person and you've dealt with difficult things before but made the absolute best decisions to handle them as you could!