Noxious

16 | in my head

Charly 

I couldn't be scared. 

The television was blaring in the living room, my foster dad never missed anything broadcasted on the news, and he always drank beer until the hour grew ungodly late. It was his ritual, I guess. He would drink until he passed out. 

It was one of the few nights that my foster mom wasn't home and he had nothing better to do. I glanced up at the clock on the wall across from me. It was nearing three am. He had started drinking around midnight, his tolerance was only so good. 

I exhaled, my shaky fingers touching the tip of the emancipation papers that rested on the kitchen table. I had planned it all out in my head. It should be flawless. 

I needed my plan to work. 

"Char!" He hollered. 

It was now or never. 

I grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator, he had already had two packs. My plan was moving along, even if it was a bit slow. I held the emancipation papers behind my back and entered the living room. It was filled with cigarette smoke but I was used to it. 

"Here, sir," I utterly quietly. 

His bloodshot eyes met mine before he snatched the beer from my extended hand. "About damn time," He muttered and took a swig. When I didn't immediately leave the room, he snarled at me, "What the fuck do you want?" 

I swallowed, "The fostering administration is offering an additional $350 to low-income families." It was such a lie but I was hoping the influence of alcohol would make it sound better. 

"More money?" He echoed with interest. 

"Yes, sir." 

He sat up, "How do I get it?" 

I set the emancipation papers down in front of him. "Just a signature," I said. Without giving him a chance to read, I held up a pen. 

He grunted and then snatched the pen from me. He scribbled a quick signature at the bottom of the paper and I instantly folded the paper up. I tried not to feel triumphant because I was still in the lion's den. 

I still had to be careful. 

His glassy eyes studied me for a long moment. It made my skin crawl. I thought he was figuring me out. Then, he patted the cushion next to him on the couch. "Sit," He demanded. 

I didn't dare disobey. Not when I was so damn close. 

I wanted to throw up being in such close proximity to him. He didn't shower regularly and he seemed to like wallowing in his own disgust. Still, my mind couldn't forget the things he did to me.

I almost didn't dare to breathe. 

His hand was on my chest before I could stop it. 

My muscles froze. 

He squeezed me and something akin to pleasure rumbled in the back of his throat. It was the kind of chuckle that told you that you were fucked. It was the kind where the predator knew they had their prey and they would enjoy the kill. 

The more his hands wandered, the more my thoughts whirled. Ever since I was a little girl, I had endured this kind of abuse because I never knew any better. I endured it as a teen because I had no other choice. 

But now? 

I could fight. 

My hand snatched his from my jeans and I twisted his pinky finger until I heard it snap. I knew that there was no going back once I fought. It was all or nothing. Fight till you can't or give up before you even try.