For Crying Out Loud

19: Daddy's Anger

Sierra's P.O.V.

     Monday afternoon I drive home from school. I don't feel like hanging out with anyone today. I didn't particularly want to talk to anyone either, but in this world, if you don't talk, people expect a problem, and they won't stop asking what it is. So I talk. I act normal. I pretend. I lie and tell them I have a lot of extra homework from the week I missed. Which I don't. All the teacher excused me due to extenuating circumstances.

     When I pull up in the drive way, I instantly want to turn around. I see the truck I've dreaded seeing for years. It's disgusting green color, dented hood, and cracked windshield makes my skin burn. I consider calling Kelsey or one of the twins. I consider driving to Jude's and see how he is doing. He apparently got expelled while I was gone, no surprise. I waste to much time considering because my mom walks out of the house, my father trailing behind her.

     In that moment, so many memories run through my head. I remember all the times I came to school and blamed the bruises on my clumsiness. No one ever questioned it. No one knew but me, Jake, and the man walking to my car.

I think about the difference between me and Precious again: I don't have to live in fear on rather it's coming or not. I always know it's coming.

     I step out and paint on a smile. I haven't seen him in eighteen months, but he stands before me as the same man who has knocked me unconscious more times than I can count on both of my hands. My stomach clenches as he takes me into a tight hug. To tight. I hug him back, but hold my breath to avoid the smell of alcohol that he carries with him everywhere. He finally let's go, but I can already feel the bruises forming at my waist.

     Once we are finally inside, we sit on the couch as if everything is normal, though this dysfunctional father, mother, daughter family is all but normal. I was a mistake. My father has made that quite clear. They were never married. They were never really officially together. I wasn't supposed to happen. I ruined everything.

     Things grow serious after a moment. "Your Dad is here to check on you. I told him about the... Accident... And he got relieved from work as soon as possible." Bullshit I think. He probably wasn't even at work, he just took his precious time to consider how to punish me this time. "He would like to speak with you in private, so I'm going over to Stacey's for lunch. Are you going to be okay?" Before you wonder, no, my mom has absolutely no idea how much of an asshole this man is to me. No, I'm not going to be okay. I think, but instead I just nod my head. Another lie.

     "Yeah. Go have fun. Love you." She smiles and kisses my head before she leaves.

     Once the door is shut, he and I stare at each other. No actual words, but I can see in his eyes what he wants to do to me. I take deep breaths as we listen for mom's car to drive off. When it does, he leans into the couch and looks me over.

     "You're a worthless piece of shit, you know? Making your mom worry like that. Making her call me. Making her expect me to come all the way here to check on you. All of this stupid depression shit you come up with is really getting tiring, Sierra. If you're going to kill yourself, just do it. All it is to me is another funeral and I don't have to deal with you or your over-dramatic mother anymore." He says it so calmly, so indifferently. No malice in his words, no anger, but that's my dad. He genuinely doesn't give a shit.

     I glare at him. My heart rate increases, and for the first time I wonder if I will provoke the physicality this time. I whisper through clenched teeth "Don't talk about my mom."

     He looks at me, amused. It's apparently oh so funny that his daughter wants to bash his head in just as much as he wants to bash her's in. The question is: who will try first?

     It's answered pretty quickly when he shoves me off the couch. I try to stand, but he just kicks me back down. "We've went over this attitude problem of yours. I advise you watch your tone."

     "Fuck you!" I yell as I scramble myself up to my feet and try to get my hands around his throat. He catches my wrists, familiar fire blazing in his eyes just before he throws me against the wall.

     I land on the ground hard, and I attempt to catch my breath before he comes back for more. I don't get a chance. Within moments he stands before me again, grabbing me by my hair, pulling me to my feet, and slinging me to the ground again. I wheez and groan as he kicks his foot in my stomach and ribcage again and again and again. I'm out of breath. I tell myself to breathe, but I can't. I heave and heave, wanting so badly to throw up but knowing I can't allow myself to. The darkness tinges my eyes as unconsciousness threatens to consume me. I need to get up, but I can't until he leaves. I fight the blackness. I fight the consumption. I'm okay. I lie again.

     He finally leaves, and I push myself to the bathroom. I puke up everything my stomach held captive until the point everything is a little red and blood dribbles from my mouth. I clean my face, which he didn't hit, and drag my aching body to my bed. I look at the blue notes that line my wall. I look at the broken mirror. I look at the pictures of me and Jake that still sit on my desk. I look around and try to figure out which pain is more bearable until finally I drift off into sleep.

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*puts face in hands* I have no comment but I can only imagine what it is like to actually have an abusive parent. Just please vote and comment and tell me what you think. I love you my darklings!