The Mute & The Meddler
As I woke up, dragging my feet across the plush carpet, I saw him coming out of the bathroom when I went to reach for the doorknob. I was startled to say the least, and I wasn't even met with a simple 'Good Morning' or 'Hello', just a sneer in my general direction. He purposely bumped my shoulder roughly as he passed me and said nothing more. I froze when his shoulder made contact, but quickly let it pass when I heard him pound down the stairs.
I took in the warmth of the shower, the comforting silence was enough to make me wish I could stay there forever. I wished I could forget about school, about fearing him, about fearing this house. If it was just so simple as to pack my bags and get the hell out of town for the rest of my life, never looking back, I would do it. But he would find me somehow.
He always did.
Two years ago, after one of our very...physical arguments about a boy who had asked me to go to the sophomore formal with him was when I first tried to run. He showed up at my doorstep with a corsage and a smile planted on his slightly chapped lips. His hair was gelled back and he was wearing a white collared shirt tucked into a pair of black pants. If I could remember clearly, his name was James...or was it Jonathan? Either way, the night had obviously been put to an end the moment he knocked on that big red door.
My father had answered it and met the boy with a signature sneer and a bottle of Jack in his hand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his slightly dirty hand and cleared his throat roughly.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice gravelly after taking another sip of his choice of poison.
I remember shrinking behind “Jack's” tall figure, trying to give the boy a sympathetic look. Only I knew what was about to happen. He had no idea yet.
“I'm um...” he stammered. “(Insert his name I once forgot here.)”
“Well, why are you on my porch?”
“I'm here to take your daughter to the formal, Sir,” he said proudly, sporting that cute smirk that I once thought was so attractive.
I don't know what it was that provoked me to let him come to the house and pick me up. After so many years of being used to my father's ways, I should have been the one to apologize, thank him for asking me, but politely decline. I knew as soon as he knocked on that door that he wouldn't be getting the night he'd set on when he asked me. Maybe it was a miniscule shred of hope left inside of me. The small part that hoped...prayed that for once, he wouldn't make this a fight and let me go.
If he hated me this much, why wouldn't he let me leave the house for a few hours so he wouldn't have to see me?
“Get the fuck off my porch, kid. She's not going anywhere,” he sneered, promptly shutting the door in his face. The last glimpse I got of my date was a slacked jaw and wide, bright green eyes. “You want to explain this to me?” he asked, his breath heavy with the stench of his favorite craving.
I merely shook my head before bowing it to strain away from his hard gaze. Before I could catch his hand in eyesight, he had slapped me across the cheek, leaving a stinging pain in its wake. I pressed my own hand firmly against my cheek, hoping I could suppress the pain in someway.
“Why?” I asked him, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. “I didn't even...I didn't do anything,” I whimpered.
“We talked about this,” he growled, closing the small distance between us and towering over me. He proceeded to push me roughly to the ground, my hands only just breaking my fall against the wooden floor. “No boys at this house.” He followed his statement with a firm kick to my ribs, my lungs feeling like they'd suddenly forgotten to do their job. “Got it, brat?” he spat, giving me one last sickening glare before stalking off to his room.
YOU ARE READING
Willow Maverick has a secret. A secret that she wishes she didn’t have to keep. But he’s changed her forever, leaving her with the constant reminders of everything she’s ever done wrong. Even if she tried, no one could begin to understand what’s hap...