His Little Assistant

Dad

ATHENA POV
TW - CHILDHOOD ABUSE

I got home after work and set all my stuff down, breathing out a sigh. I was embarrassed after falling asleep on Everett, but he assured me he didn't mind. Hera was in her room watching tv, I assumed. I started to make dinner for the two of us. I changed into Everett's shirt, it was super comfortable.

Thanks to the project and the extra work hours, I was able to afford more food for the two of us and wanted to celebrate with Hera's favorite meal, chicken parmesan.

I was a great cook thanks to my mother. Before she passed away, she was my number one supporter and had me in the kitchen since I was a baby. Even after she passed, I cooked in her legacy. She died due to a heart condition she had kept from me and my father, Hera was too young to understand what was happening. Mom didn't want to worry us, as we were already in debt and the medical bills would surely put even more of a strain on my father. I would always think of her when she said my name or Hera's, she had picked them and named us after greek goddesses.

When she died, everything changed. Not all at once, though. At first it was smaller things, my dad being irritable and drinking more than usual. It soon turned into something more. He beat me on a daily for minuscule things. Not cleaning up after I had cooked something, not doing my homework, not going out (as a 13 year old) to get him more beer, and protecting my sister when he would make aggressive advances towards her.

My sister was the only thing keeping me sane and motivated in that time. I would go out in a long sleeved shirt and jeans in the summer, to hide long gashes and bruises he had made. He wore rings, making the punches even more insufferable.

For months I tried to make excuses for him. Maybe he blamed himself for my mom's death, maybe he was so stressed that his only relief was alcohol, I wasn't sure. But after the time of denial that my father had a problem, I began working. Working to get myself and Hera out of the depths of hell we had found ourselves in. I worked three jobs, plus school.

Most days I was too exhausted to even eat what I had cooked for my family. Hera was always grateful, using her manners every time I set a plate down in front of her. My father would just huff and eat as quick as he could and then go sit in front of the tv and waste his life away.

I stopped feeling sorry for him, stopped having hope in him. Soon after the beatings started, I didn't see him as the high and mighty person he used to be in my mind. He stopped feeling like a father. He was just like everyone else, flawed and broken.

I was so grateful to escape his clutches, moving out at 18 after legally adopting Hera. I knew the road ahead would be rough, but nothing worse than what we had been through together already.

Now, she was peaceful in her room as I finished the shared meal for us. I couldn't be more grateful for where life had put us nowadays, even if I still worked 2 jobs to support the both of us. I would give up anything for my baby sister, she was like my own daughter as I had been her primary care giver ever since my mom died.

I set the plates down and called Hera in. She began eating, and I almost sat down when there was a knock on the door.

I walked over to it and looked through the peep hole, and I was not expecting what I saw. I did a double take, but he was still there. My father was still there.

"Hera," I said with the calmest voice I could muster, "Room, now please."

"Is something wrong, thena?" She asks, clearly worried.