Collide with Me Softly (Rewrite)

chapter two

Lylia's POV

One doesn't know how much they posses until it's all one one place. Looking down at my packed possessions I felt a pang deep in my chest. A suit case full of clothes, a box full of breakables, and a duffle bag full of odds and ends all sat in my bare bedroom floor.
Last night, once my father came to, my Aunt Jessie had seen enough. Standing in my pajamas she had seen all the scars my drunken father had inflicted over the years and it being just after she had to save me from his wrath she had made up her mind. I was to live with her until my father sobered up.

"Lylia pack your mother fucking bags! You are coming to stay with me! Away from this piss fucked bitch!!!" My aunt was not a woman who normally cussed so hearing the strings of profanity showed how truly pissed she was. I was scared, my aunt was an Amazonian warrior who made me have the urge to piss myself. "For how long?" I asked quietly, pulling a blanket over myself in attempt to cover my scar littered skin. I wasn't ashamed of them but my aunt really didn't need encouragement to break my father's bones. "What do you mean for how long?" Her arched brows furrowed creating worry lines on her face. I glanced at my father who was sobbing on the floor, fat ugly tears rolling down his bright red scrunched up face. My stomach was churning and my hands shook with nervous jitters. "When will I come back home?" I ask slowly knowing the wrong words will get me no where. "You wanna come back? To this fucking hell hole?" She asked confusion clear in her glossy eyes. I nodded thinking through what I was about to say. "He's my father, I can't just leave him... nothing changes that. So when can I come back home?" My aunt Jessie scrunched her nose as she thought through her answer. "You are so much like Calla, please don't let that be your down fall..." She said softly giving into my will. She whirled around to face my father, "YOU WILL SOBER THE FUCK UP IF YOU EVEN HOPE FOR YOUR DAUGHTER TO COME BACK!" My aunt Jessie screamed her face red and eyes blazing with the burning passion of a star. My father fell over onto his knees promising to fix his ways just so I could come back.

Did I know how long that would take? Nope. But with luck he would sober quickly and welcome me home with a loving embrace before spring break was over.
Did I wanna leave?
I...I'm...not so sure. I mean yeah my dad had done some messed up things but, he was still my dad. He's just as much as the man who carved a bible scripture into my skin as he is the man who makes silly shaped pancakes for me on my birthday. He taught me how to paint just as easily as he taught me to grit my teeth. In these domestic abuse situations not everything is black and white, there's a lot of gray. It's not as simple as sober or drunk, or night and day, it's all trapped inside a gray labyrinth that no one seems to be able to decipher.
"Lylia it's time to go sweet cheeks, Let's go say good bye..." My aunt says softly, she knows how much this effected me so she was willing to go out of her way to make sure I was ok with everything. I nodded slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder, readying myself for what's to come next.
We quickly stuffed my things into my aunt's car before heading back to tell my father good bye. The whole time we packed my father had sat in the same spot, head down, holding a piece of paper muttering to himself on the edge of his bed. Peeking into his room I felt a pang deep in my chest, my father had lost my mother and sister, looking at his hunched form I felt as if I was leaving him too.
"Can I do this alone?" I asked my aunt gently, pleading with my eyes for her to understand. My aunt looked as if she was going to argue, her eyes said it all. She no longer trusted him. That was clear enough, but my gut was telling me I needed to do this myself. "Please Auntie?" I coaxed her with the fond childhood name. Running an agitated hand through her auburn hair she gave in, "Fine! But I'll be in the next room just yell if anything goes wrong." I nodded giving her a smile that felt weak and pasted on. She returned the sick looking smile and left me to my own devises. Without much hesitation I went to my father's side, my hands shook more and more the closer I came to the crying man. "Dad? I gotta say bye..." I spoke softly, not wanting to trigger more tears. He looks up quickly, rubbing his tear swollen eyes with his hands as if to clear away the after affects of his sorrow. "I've got a present for you, it's ah... from your mom..." He sniffled rubbing at his snotty nose with the edge of his sleeve. I inwardly cringed at the lack of a tissue as my mind fizzed with the possibilities. This couldn't be, it's been what seven years? And he's just now giving it to me??? He must have seen the confusion on my face because what he said next kinda eased my sudden anger. "It was for once you were old enough or moved out, I ah guessed now was just as good as a time then ever."
"You've had stuff from mom for seven years? You're just now giving it to me?" I gritted as hot tears scalded my eyes. I can't believe this. I won't believe this. "Do you want it or NOT?- I'm sorry I just..." my father fumbled over his words and he was clearly angry that I was upset. I was really learning what types of man my father was.
A fool.
"Just give it to me so I can leave." I tell him quietly attempting to remain calm. My anger made me feel hot all over like I was an ant under a magnifying glass in the summer sun. He lumbered from his spot on the bed and figited in his closet before pulling out a box.
There wasn't really anything special about this box, it looked like a gift you would get for your birthday. It was wrapped in plain pink paper and kept closed with some white string. There was a gift tag attached written in my mother's flowing hand writing,
To Lylia with all my love,
Mom
Tears sprang to my eyes, from joy or relief I really couldn't tell. He handed me the box and really it wasn't heavy but it wasn't really light either. "This is from me..." He said almost bashful as he sat a wrinkled envelope on top of the box. "Thank you.." I told him nodding my head in respect at him. All he responded with was,
"Be careful with their kind kid."
My dad only called me kid if he was worried or very serious so I answered like I always did. "Ok dad."
Then I left, I got into my aunt's battered car that had seen better days and drove away. And for some strange reason it felt good, I felt liberated. But this new light feeling was short lived by my aunt's words.
"We need to talk."
As a child you learn when an adult says we need to talk it's never about some thing good. "About what?" I ask the cold sensation of dread burrowing itself in my gut. "Do you know what industria Imperium means?" She asked as she stopped at a red light. "No what does it mean?" I scooted back in my seat as I attempted to figure out the strange words. "It means energy control in Latin." She answered glancing at me from her mirror. "Ok... What does that have to do with anything?" This conversation was quickly making me feel uneasy. "Well Lylia our family has been gifted with industria Imperium for thousands of generations. Over the years we've been called different things, warlocks, sorcerers most commonly witches. You my sweet Lylia are a witch." My aunt proclaimed with a broad smile. "I'm a what?" I ask with raised eyebrows. This couldn't be true, yes when I was 12 I was obsessed with Harry potter. But there's no way this could be possible. "A witch you absorb energy from all around you and bend it to your will. At least once you're taught you will."
Suddenly my father's drinking words came rushing back, sober or drunk I'll cure a witch like you.