Forever #watty's fifteen (2015)

Ch. 9

"Are you all ready and packed?" my mom yells from downstairs. 

I sigh and grab my bag. "Yeah." 

I sit at the kitchen table, waiting for my dad to pick me up. It's just me for the weekend, Jacob went last weekend and Abby went on Wednesday. 

Jacob went crazy on Avery again because he made me go into the water, that's when I had to tell him about when the fourteen year old kid tried murdering me by pushing my face into the water. 

The doorbell rings and I get up, walking past my dad and getting in the car. 

"Are you ready for the weekend, have everything packed?" he asks, smiling. 

"Yeah," I look out the window at my house. "I already have my brain set to pure dull and boredom mode." 

He shakes his head, starting the car and driving back to his apartment. 

I walk down the hall to the spare bedroom and set my things down. 

"I have to meet someone for their job interview," my dad pokes his head into the doorway. 

"Okay, I'll be here," I sit on the bed. 

He nods his head and walks out, closing the front door behind him. 

I turn on the tv and text Claire. 

After four hours of watching Peter Griffin make fun of every race, religion, and gender plus eating as much pizza that will fit into my stomach I decide to call my dad. 

It rings but he doesn't pick up. 

It's another hour before the door slams open and he stumbles in. 

He has a purple bruse on his cheek, a butterfly bandage across his nose, and his eye brow is split open. His clothes are torn and they smell of alcohol. His eyes are blood shot red and his skin looks pale. 

"Where have you been?" I ask in astonishment. 

"Don't talk to me like that," he slurs, grabbing the cuff of my T-shirt and shoving me against the wall. 

I grab his hands and throw them off of me. "Don't touch me." 

He grabs my wrist and drags me to the ground, putting his foot on top of me so I can't get up. 

"You're not my mom, you can't tell me how I want to live my life," he blinks at his own stupidity. 

"Let me go," I say calmly. 

"No." 

I clench my fists and punch his leg, dead-legging him. 

He yells out in pain and turns back to me with a face of pure rage. 

He grabs my throat and pushes it against the wall, blocking off the air to my lungs. 

"Stop!" I whisper, tears in my eyes. 

He lets go but takes my arm and pushes me across the room, slamming me into the coffee table. 

He doesn't wait to see if I'm okay, doesn't even look back. He staggers into his bed room and closes the door. 

I go into my room and lock to the door. I would take the car but wherever I would go I would have to explain what just happened. 

I change and turn out the lights, crawling into bed so I can weep.

In the morning I ignore my dads apologies and make him drive me home. Without saying goodbye, I grab my bag and go inside. 

"What are you doing home so early?" my mom asks. But I ignore her and go up to my room.