The Good Ones

Chapter 2

I will not use curse words in this story for reasons I can't explain lol
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"You lazy witch!" my father shouts, his hand grabbing my arm and wrenching me off of my bed, causing me to hit the rough floor with a loud thud. "You just sleep all day! A waste of space!"

My eyes snap open even though I have just been woken up, my heart beating erratically in my chest. My dad's eyes are tinted pink from alcohol and rage, his brown eyes appearing darker.

"Dad, I--"

"No!" he screams, bending down and slapping my face harshly. The sting brings tears to my eyes and makes me start to breathe very fast, the sound of it ringing in my ears. "Pathetic! Why are you still here? I don't know why I can't frickin' kick you out! I guess this part of me feels sorry for your lame self, and I also need a freakin' punching bag to let out my infuriating anger!"

I sniffle and cover my face, trying to block any further slapping attempts. My hands are pulled off my face and a boot hits me in the eye, making me cry out in pain, the pain dull but harsh. I kick my legs out at him and send him falling to the floor, the floor shuddering beneath the impact. Him and I both scramble to our feet and he throws a punch at my jaw, making my head snap back and my feet stumble backwards. I block his next hit and kick him in the groin. His knees buckle out from underneath him and I jump onto my bed as he groans in pain, cussing like a sailor. I get onto my knees and unlatch my window, sliding it up with effort as it creaks open, the nighttime breeze rushing into the room.

"You crazy witch!" my dad shouts at me as I scoot onto the window sill. "You know you can't leave! You'll always come crawling back! I'll always be waiting for you!"

I don't jump, but I let myself roll off. I'm falling through the air for what seems like a minute, but it's probably only 3 seconds since it's the second story-- about a 25 foot fall. My body crashes into the bushes and the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. The spiky leaves on the bushes dig into my skin and I'm afraid to move. I've actually fallen from that window a few times before this one. I think my dad doesn't lock it because he knows I'll be just as beat up falling out of the house as I would be getting beaten by him. So considerate of him.

The window above me slams shut and I'm left in the silence of the night, the crickets chirping mindlessly. The stars glitter against the night sky, though I can only see several bright ones because of the pollution of the city. Holding my breath, I roll off of the bushes onto the dead grass, left out a quiet whine of relief and a groan of pain. My body relaxes against the scratchy grass thankfully, my body aching. Especially my face.

Sighing, I get to my feet and wince as my hand knocks my jaw as I attempt to brush my blonde hair out of my face. I start to pull the leaves out of my plain, long-sleeve white t-shirt that now has patches of dirt on it. I pull them out my hair, wincing when they prick my fingers, and I also brush them off my skinny khakis, watching them flutter onto the grass. Sighing when I'm done, I shove my hands in my pockets and start to walk down the lawn towards the road. There's no way I'll be able to sleep at my house tonight with him acting like a guard dog. I despise nights like this. He wasn't even drunk! He fought me fine. He only had a few drinks before his rage was strong enough to need to be taken out on me apparently. If only he could see what he's doing, that normal dads don't beat their kids. And I'm not even wearing any shoes, so my feet are cold, though that's doesn't have to do with anything I was just saying.

I'm not gonna say that I'm blessed because people have it worse than me; that might make people feel guilty. I know there's people who have it worse; but this is pretty bad, so I'm not thankful. At all. And that's okay.