Bully // l.h. // Book 1 of Bully Series

5. Old News, Buddy

 "Yeah," I continued, letting my lips tilt up in a humorless smile, "You almost got it spot on. But your timing was a bit off." I paused for a moment, folding my book closed as I thought about whether or not I actually wanted to continue with what I was saying. 

  "She actually left last week. Got on a plane and flew off without any note or goodbye. So you're right. She didn't love me enough to stay." I frowned at the blond haired boy in front of me, defiance written all over my body.

  "So don't think you're all that clever by telling me my mom hates me." I said, standing up and gathering my book and backpack from my desk area. My gaze locked with Luke's once more. "Because that's old fucking news."

  I whirled around and stalked towards the door. Everyone was too shocked to do anything. Nobody spoke back to Luke like I just had. 

  I bumped into Mr. Gregory on my way out the door. He grunted in surprise as the pile of papers in his hands took to the air, fluttering to the ground in a cloud of white. 

  "Sorry." I grumbled, squeezing past him.

  "Ms. Larksen!" I heard the teacher call after me as I sped down the long hallway. There was no way in hell I was going to turn around and walk back into that classroom. My Math quiz would have to wait another weekend to be taken. Thank God it was a Friday.

  I walked the whole seventeen blocks to my house, fuming. I wasn't angry that Luke had talked had about my mom; she deserved it for leaving like she did. What I <I>was</I> angry about, however, was the fact that, after over a month of refusing to give Luke the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of me, I'd caved. No, I hadn't cried or tried to deny the insults he flung at me. I had agreed with him. How stupid of me! What the hell had I been thinking? Now Luke had something on me; a subject even a blind person could tell was a sore one for me. I'd just ensured a few months' worth of mom-related taunts.

  In my anger, I missed the smell of alcohol emanating from the living room in the house. I only smelled it when I paused at the sound of the television. My dad worked on Fridays, and for a fleeting moment, I entertained the thought that my mom had returned. But only for a moment. A loud grunt came from the living room.

  "Clara? Is that you?" My dad's voice sounded thick, and his words were slurred. I stepped forward into the living room and found my dad on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand. There were at least three empty bottles on the floor near the corner of the couch, and I figured there were more scattered about on the other side.

  My mother had been the one who used to regulate dad's drinking. He had once broken a window when drunk, and was happy to let her tell him when enough was enough. He'd never been an alcoholic, but since she left last week, I'd seen more alcohol in the house than I ever had before. When my dad's eyes landed on me, they narrowed.

  "What are you doing here?" He questioned gruffly. I shrugged.

  "School got out early today." I lied. Not like he would ever find out. If anything, my father had been less interested in my schooling than he was in fixing the relationship with my mom. Except that hadn't worked out for him, obviously.

  "Liar." My dad grumbled. Well, that was new. I opened my mouth to explain why I had left school, but my dad started talking again.

  "The school called, saying you left campus against the rules." He said, standing up. 

  "I'm sorry, dad. I won't do it again, I was just-"

  "Shut up!" My dad's loud, booming voice caused me to jump. He'd never yelled like that before. 

  "You're just like her, think the rules don't apply to you." My dad slurred out, taking a few stumbling steps towards me. His eyes were a dark, almost black shade of brown. I took a step back, my heart rate going up as I felt fear edge into my thoughts. I glanced at the door to my left. I could make it through in a matter of seconds and get down the stairs. My dad was far enough away to do it without him catching me. 

 "Thinking of running, are you?" My dad sneered, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked back at him and jumped when I realized he had gotten a lot closer. I took another step back. Wrong move. My dad's arm whipped out and caught hold of my wrist roughly. He was surprisingly quick, considering the fact that he was drunk. That thought didn't linger long, quickly being replaced with terror as my dad yanked me into the living room.

  "You appreciate nothing! I gave you two everything, and you take it and run!" He boomed, throwing me away from him. I stumbled to the floor, knocking an empty beer bottle over on its side. My wrist stung where he had been holding it, and I could see red marks on it. 

  I let out a yelp when my dad's hand gripped my hair and pulled upwards. My hands flew to his, trying to lessen the pain as he pulled me back to my feet. I could feel tears begin to roll down my cheeks.

  "Dad, stop! Please!" I cried. "I'm sorry! Just stop!" I was fully sobbing, tears dripping from my chin onto my shirt.

  "Fucking liar!" He hollered, grabbing my shoulder and turning me to face him. His fingers dug into my flesh painfully, and I tried to wiggle from his grasp. My efforts were rewarded with a painful slap to the face. I gasped at the contact, the force of the slap sending me stumbling back. As soon as I realized I was out of my dad's grip, I bolted. I heard his angry bellows behind me as I catapulted down the stairs and into my room, slamming and locking the door behind me. I sunk to the floor on the other side of the thick oak door and cried. 

  My heart was still racing, and I took loud, gulping breaths to calm myself down. After about ten minutes, I had stopped crying. Standing up on slightly shaky legs, I made my way to the long full body mirror in the corner of my room and took in my appearance. 

  I looked horrible. My eyes and cheeks were red from crying, and there was a patch on my left cheek that was turning a shade of purple. I ran my fingers gently over the mark on my face. I let out a quiet whimper when my eyes landed on the dark bruises on my wrist. I pulled my arm in front of me and examined the dark marks on my skin. There were four right next to each other and one on the opposite side.

I stayed in my room for the rest of the day. I hated the feeling, but I was terrified of my dad. I knew I could explain away his violence as a side effect of the alcohol, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't excuse it.

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Things just keep getting worse and worse for poor Daeyna, don't they? Anyways, tell me what you think of the story so far! I'm open for any suggestions you may have as well. Let me know what you want to see, and maybe I'll incorporate something just for you! Hope you liked the chapter! Love you guys lots! =)