His Mission

Wake the Monster.

I'm walking home from school when I turn the corner to enter my street. My house is situated at the end of the road, but it no longer resembles the loving home I grew up in. The small patch of land in front of the house was once alive with beautiful flowers. Since my father's death, the grass is strewn with rubbish and empty wrappers. Disappointment settles in my stomach as I remember how much my father loved to tend to his flowers in the early weeks of spring. When I reach the front door, I pause before taking a deep breath to prepare myself. I enter the key slowly and with caution due to not wanting to wake Trevor.

His routine consists of falling asleep in front of the television during the day. As soon as I enter the house, I hear his snores and laboured breathing echoing from the room. The grunts he releases between each breath reminds me of a pig. He bears a striking resemblance to the animal with his bald head, short nose and pale flushed skin. I've always wondered what Mom saw in him...Perhaps his hefty bank balance.

Despite being young, I remember when she started dating Trevor. Within weeks, she claimed she was madly in love and moved him into the home. It wasn't long after that when he started to beat her. It started off small, just like any other domestic abuse relationship. It soon progressed into regular beatings that caused Mom to shrink into herself. She withered away in front of me until her strength and independence didn't exist anymore. Trevor took all of the good parts of her, and replaced it with the ghost of a Mom that I once remember.

My father raised me to be courageous, and stand up for what's right. Once I felt brave enough, I stood up to Trevor in an attempt to protect Mom. I'd run in front of her so his hands wouldn't meet her body. I yelled at him until I was red in the face for him to leave her alone. Trevor didn't react well to my bravery. It started off with throwing me out of the way until it quickly developed into regular beatings. He despised me for showing traits my father taught me.

My jaw turns rigid when I replay the times he'd beaten me as a little girl.

His actions caused me to despise anyone who showed a sliver of violence. A home should be filled with love, support and laughter. Trevor took that away and replaced it with silence, fear and darkness. I've thought about reaching out for help multiple times. Trevor's threats would instantly pull me back into line.

"If you tell anyone, I'll find out and I'll end you." He'd sneer in my face. His dark eyes glimmered with sick satisfaction when he noticed the fear exuding from me. There's no doubt about it, I'm officially trapped in this hell hole until I turn eighteen. I'll have no money, no family and no roof over my head but that's better than living a life in fear. I have twelve months and two weeks to go until my eighteenth birthday.

My breathing catches in my throat when Trevor stirs in his armchair. His hand is clutching a beer, and the scent of smoke mixed with alcohol clouds the air. I cover my nose to mask the scent, and focus on climbing the stairs without making a noise. I'm becoming a professional at creeping around the house, especially knowing which creaky floorboards to avoid.

Once I'm safely in my room, I lock the door and breathe a sigh of relief. I kick off my trainers before reaching for a hair scrunchie. Pain explodes in my scalp as soon as I tie my hair out of my face. I release a small whimper before reaching up to touch the missing patch of hair. As soon as I remove my makeup, I'm faced with the bruise paying rent under my right eye. I press against it lightly before releasing a soft sigh of defeat. I'm distracted by the sound of my phone ringing. I reach for it before automatically pressing the answer button. I expect Trish's voice to fill the line, but there's an eerie silence on the other end.

"Hello?" I call out uneasily. "Trish? Is that you?"

I expect it to be a wrong number, but the deep voice that calls my name sounds like it's intended to freak me out.