This is Who I am Now (On Hold)

Chapter Nine

This is Who I am Now

Chapter Nine

I’m abruptly awakened by banging at my door.

                “Leah! Leah, open this door! Open it or,” he stops to take a ragged breath, “or I’ll kill you!” His words are a little slurred, and he sounds like he just ran a marathon. My head is fuzzy with sleep, and I realize a little late that it’s my father, drunk again. He must’ve woken up and had some more to drink, like he always does. What else is there to do on a Wednesday morning, make breakfast? Of course not. No, the only thing to do on a Wednesday morning is to get drunk, run up the stairs with your out-of-shape body, and threaten to kill your daughter, apparently. I ignore him, hoping he’ll go away, but he doesn’t. He continues to bang away at the door, and I get up to start getting ready for school. It’s five in the morning, but I’ll never get back to sleep if he doesn’t stop. I know he can’t break through my door anymore, because after he broke it years ago, I stole his credit card and got a steel wood door. I was living without a door for almost seven years, but I finally bought it when I was ten, and Sara helped me lug it down the road, all the way home. Even though I know I’m safe, I’m still a light sleeper.

                After getting ready, I sneak out of the house through my second-story window, like I’ve done so many times. My dad waking up early is a frequent thing, and so, to avoid a beating, I leave through the window, and climb down the trellis. I reach the bottom, go around to the front door, and peek in. I listen closely, and I hear my father still banging like a madman on my door, so I try to go inside. I slowly open the white door, trying to stay as quiet as a mouse. It creaks, and I stop to listen again. He’s still thundering on my bedroom door, so I know I’m in the clear. I push the front door open further, and squeeze through the small opening without it creaking. I stealthily tiptoe into the kitchen, looking for my father’s wallet. After work, he always drops his wallet and keys on the kitchen table, which we don’t eat at, and they normally stay there until the next work day. I find them right where they’re supposed to be, and I grab his wallet, but not without the keys going tumbling to the floor. They make a clattering sound as they hit the linoleum, and I freeze in place, listening. Not a second later, I hear my father bounding down the stairs.

                “Leah! Are you,” I hear him take an exasperated breath, “taking my money again?” He’s fuming as he takes another breath; I can almost feel the steam pouring out of his mouth from here. “That’s my money, you filthy mooch!” My father reaches the bottom of the stairs, and I give up my silent charade, already aiming for the door. Although he’s out of shape, he’s fast, and beats me to the front door, blocking my way. “I should’ve killed you the day I killed your mother!” I make a break for my room, but he catches me by my hair. I cry out in pain, cursing my long hair. I should’ve shaved it off after the last time he did this. He pulls me back to him, and I throw his wallet towards the stairs. He doesn’t go for the bait though; all he wants now is me. I try to pull my hair out of his death grip and run, but he’s stronger than he looks too. He keeps me at an arm’s length away, and repeatedly kicks my back. I hear it crack, but it’s not broken. My father loses his grip on my hair, and my body flies forward with the momentum built up from trying to escape. We both go tumbling to the floor, but he falls onto his back. I fall onto my stomach, and my nose hits the floor, hard. I feel blood start to drip out as I scramble to get up. Before I’ve got both feet on the floor, my father grabs me by the ankle, and again I fall face-flat on the floor. I scream in pain as my nose, once again, smashes into the floor. He gets another hand on my other ankle, and pulls me towards him. As my skin slides against the linoleum, it makes a deafening, high pitched screeching sound. I know that’s going to burn later. I turn my head, and kick my legs, aiming for his face, his groin, anything. I get him once in the gut, but under all that fat, his abs deflect the blow. He straddles my legs, and under his heavy weight, I can’t get away. His hand grabs the back of my head, slamming it down for the third time. This time it makes me dizzy, and I almost pass out. I focus on staying awake, because I know if I go to sleep, I won't wake up. He punches me in my side, knocking the wind out of me. My father does this again and again, and I can’t breathe. When he finally stops, out of breath, I inhale, and the sudden burst of oxygen makes me lightheaded again. After catching his breath too, he slides his hands under my shirt, and forcefully pulls my pants down, popping the button off, and they’re around my thighs. He leans down, and I feel his sticky breath in my ear, “How about we try something new? I hope you like anal.” I feel my body tearing as he plunges into me while saying this and a bloodcurdling scream leaves my lips.