♱ 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊 ♱

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The eye that mocks a father that scorns obedience to a mother will be pecked out by ravens of the valley, will be eaten by the vultures.

Proverbs 30:17





This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

I was supposed to wake up at 6:20 am to the sound of my alarm. It would be too quiet for my dad to hear; I had tucked it under my pillow to be absolutely sure of that. I had planned the entire thing out with no room for any misjudgments.

Only I was going to wake up to the soft ringing. Then I would have ten minutes to get out of bed, make my way silently to the door without stepping on the creaky board 3-5 steps from the wall, drag my desk chair out from under the knob, and carefully turn the key back before going back to bed and being able to sleep until my actual alarm went off at 7:00 am on my bedside table. Dad wouldn't be awake until at least nine if my 2nd alarm woke him, and regardless, I doubted it would get him out of bed. He always slept in after drinking. That was a pattern he never broke.

I had it all planned out. It was supposed to be okay.

What was happening right now was not, by any stretch of the imagination, okay.

Misjudgment #1: It was not 6:20 am. If the pitch blackness of my room was anything to go off of, I should have still been enjoying my 5 hours of sleep.

Misjudgment #2: My desk chair had not been removed from its place under the doorknob. It was still holding firm, though it was currently shaking with the force of trying to be dislodged from behind a locked door, making it evident that I had messed up gravely.

Misjudgment #3: My alarm wasn't going off.

My father was.

"Travis Isaac Phelps!" He boomed from behind the door, his voice just about splintering wood, "Get out here before I break this Godforsaken thing down! Are you dense? Locking doors I pay for you to sleep behind?!"

I couldn't get myself out of bed fast enough, even though exhaustion was doing a hell of a job weighing me down. I needed to get that door unlocked before he broke it down.

And he would break it down.

"Do you hear me, boy? I know you're awake. Get your sorry ass out of bed," He spat. If his voice was anything to go off of, he was pissed. God, this was going to hurt.

"I'm up, sir. I'm sorry. I'm coming," I yelped, my voice smaller than I wanted. I hoped you couldn't still hear the sleep in it.

I ignored my father's banging and the squeaky floorboard as I stumbled over to the chair, unbothered by the sound of it skidding across the floor. 'No point in hiding it now. He probably couldn't even hear it over himself anyway, and regardless, there was nothing I could do to get myself out of the deep shit I was in.

I reached for the doorknob mechanically before something stopped me for a moment, my hand resting on the jittering nob. It hit me all at once how fast my heart was beating and how much my body was screaming at me not to open the door.

I knew what was coming when I did...

But what was my other option? Leave? Grab my bedsheets and use them to scale the side of the house to the ground floor? Run as fast as possible and never look back...

I could do it. The door had held him back this long. He wouldn't be able to catch up to me before I could get to the bus stop. And I had 50 dollars under my mattress from selling my rollerblades last year...

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