Mad Ember

23: Demons

He never physically abused me, and he never blamed me for her death. Even his drunk mind knew it was the disease, giving his life savings to research for breast cancer, leaving us close to penniless. I got better at cleaning, better at holding our broken family tied together. Still, after a while, he found something else to ridicule.

My behavior. Oh, how annoying I was for wanting a spare second of my dad's attention. He was always far too busy watching the sports channel with a Pilsner beer in his hand. Picking on my actions, hating my appearance and choice of clothes, and my failures of never being able to do anything right. There were rare moments when he would spare me his attention. My birthdays and holidays where he would put the beer down and act like a father only to be drinking once again by nightfall. 'He doesn't mean it, Emmy, he's coping.' Josiah's voice echoes in my head.

My father's favorite thing was to blame me for his own actions. It was my fault he was always so angry because I couldn't do anything perfect enough for him.

'I don't like being like this! You make me like this! It's your own damn fault!' He would scream.

'You don't know what I've been through!' He screams.

'You don't know what I've given up for you!' My thoughts turn to a steady stream of his constant tirade. Leaving me gagging for a proper breath, silent cries encompass my body as I hope the sound of the shower covers all the noise I'm making.

'You would be nothing without me! I treat you like this because you make me. I treat you like this because you deserve it.'

'You can never do anything, right!'

'Listen for fuck's sake!' And my personal favorite...

'Chloe would be so disappointed in you.' Chloe. Whom I called my mom. I sat on the shower floor, hugging my body tightly. The freezing water reminding me that I am still here. Wherever here is. I've never had episodes this bad before. The thought of meeting Corban's family must have triggered it. I don't realize my cries were not so silent until I hear harsh banging on the door, which only results in pulling my thoughts closer to the surface.

'You have shit to do! Get the hell out of your room and do something for once in your life!' I let out a choked sob. I try to never let my father's words get to me. I got good over the years, I lived on my own but coming here brought up many memories that I had long since forgotten, thought I had forgotten.

'Emmy, if you listened to him, it wouldn't be so bad.' Josiah would tell my crying form, gently rubbing my back. And he was my older brother, so I tried harder, only to be left more and more disappointed in myself. I may be strong physically, but mentally I'm fighting a war that I know I will never win.

My father verbally abused me every day after my mother died. And I believed every word he told me... I still do.

Verbal abuse. His mouth was a loaded gun that constantly shot at me. The words hitting me like a fifty caliber bullet. But when I asked my brother his reply silenced me, '

It's not abuse Emmy. He doesn't hit you.' He would tell me softly. If he was here now, I would rip him a new one. Words hurt. Words hurt so damn bad, and if you are told the same thing enough, you eventually start believing the lies that they spew at you. The tongue is a small thing, but what enormous damage it can do. It can be worse than a punch to your gut.

When I got a little older, and it started getting worse, I would think what if I told someone... not Josiah, but maybe the nice old lady across the street. But I was never able to do it. I would stare out the window, watching as she watered her flowers. I would have my hand on the brass door handle, but I never opened the door keeping my father's words trapped in the walls of our perfect two story house.