Chapter six
It's been four days since I talked to Harry at the cafe. I haven't called or texted him. Though I did actually save his number.. It doesn't mean anything! At least that what I've been telling myself.
These four days has been good considering everything. My dad has barely placed a hand on me, well to be fair he has barely been home, but the few times I've seen him he's been in an really good mood. I know it won't last and I know that I should never take my guard down around him but it's still been refreshing and it's been good for my bruised up body, it's had some time to recover and the pain has reduced tremendously, it's not gone but it's a start.
I've had two days at the cafe and then I had two days off straight. I never really know what to do with myself when I don't have to work.. I would love to go to university but I know I could never afford it and there's no way in hell I could get my dad to pay it.
I brought it up to him once. Big mistake that turned out to be. I ended up with one of the worst beatings I've ever experienced. I literally whimper from the thought of that horrible day.
Dad kept telling me I wasn't smart enough anyway and that he didn't want to hear anything about me wanting to leave because he was the only one who would ever tolerate me.
When it comes to all those terrible things that he tells me it's like a have two minds.. There's a part of my brain telling me to just shut him out and not believe anything he's throwing at me, but then there is the other part, telling me he's right about everything. That I am all those things he calls me. That I should be thankful he puts a roof over my head and not to feel bad for myself because I deserve every bit of pain I've ever had to endure.
It's around 2pm and I don't really know what to do with the rest of my day so i decide to bring out everything I need to do a serious cleaning of the house.
It might seem odd to some people but I've always found cleaning relaxing. I'm glad that I feel that way about it because my dad doesn't exactly do a lot of housework around here. Ironic considering that he fixes things and cleans for a living at other peoples houses, but refuses to lift a finger when it comes to our house.
I start out in the kitchen, making my way to the sitting room and the living room. It takes me about three hours to be completely done with the ground floor then I head to the first floor and use about two hours up there, cleaning the hall, my room, my bathroom, the office and I do a quick check in my dad's room, I never really know whether or not to clean his room. Sometimes he gets mad if I leave his room out and other times he can get pissed at me for touching his stuff.
I conclude that his room doesn't need much anyway so I just wipe off a few places where dust has been allowed to collect and vacuum in there before closing the door behind me.
It's past seven know and I'm exhausted. My dad has been a no show all day so I have no idea if he'll even be here for dinner or if he's sleeping here.
I know I should probably start dinner, considering the time and the fact that have barely eaten today, but I'm just so damn tired that I pack away all the cleaning supplies and go to my room to take a quick a nap.
I fall asleep almost instantly.
"Why the hell isn't dinner on the fucking table?!" I almost jump out of bed as my dad's voice wakes me up. I'm rally disappointed he came and woke me up, I was having one of the nicest dreams I've had in a long time. About my mother. The good dreams are always about the beautiful mother I once knew.
It takes a few seconds to realize my dad asked me a question.
"I.. I feel asleep" my voice is shaking and I hate that I come of as weak.
"You ungrateful child! I was out working and you think you can just drag your lazy ass around my house! And then you have the nerves to not even have my dinner ready when I come home?!" He spits at my face and I feel my stomach turn from his words.
"I cleaned the entire house and I didn't know if you were coming home for dinner.. You didn't last night" I attempt to explain myself. My voice comes out a little more steady this time but I'm fairly certain he can hear the slight fear.
"You are a little bitch aren't you? You think because you cleaned a little you are a good child? Well you are not! No one wants you! No one will ever be able to stand you besides me! No one cares about you and there's defiantly no one who loves you!" I flinch from his hard words, most days I can manage to bring up my wall and not let it in. But since he woke me up and I had been without him for so many hours in a row I wasn't prepared for this.
"I fucking hate you! You are a ugly discussing fat whore! You're a good for nothing little child!" All his words hit me hard and I feel the tears threaten to spill but I blink rapidly to force them away. I hate so much when he calls me a child. I'm not a god damn child.
He walks out of my room slamming the door behind him but I hear him yell when he reaches the stairs.
"GET DINNER READY!" He yells at the top of his lungs.
I know it might seem weird but at times I can't help but feel like his verbal assault his hurting me more than when he hits and beats me. I can feel myself crumble and I know I'm letting him get to me with his words.
I'm out of bed and down starting dinner before there goes another minute. I scramble around the kitchen for a few minutes before figuring out what to prepare.
I'm thankful that I did a lot of grocery shopping two days ago. I end up making a lasagne and cross my fingers that my dad won't be mad that he has to wait while the lasagne is in the oven cooking.
I bring my dad another beer as he sits in front of the tv and watches some random football game. He doesn't say anything when I tell him it will take a little while for dinner to be ready, he just waves me away so he can give the tv his full attention.
I call for my dad when I take the lasagne out and puts in on table that I set. My dad takes a seat and smiles at me before he digs in. Actually he smiles at me multiple times during dinner, it freaks me out how quickly his mood changes. I never know what to expect from him.
My dad praises the food and questions why I eat as little as I do. Like he actually cares. I won't admit it but his words actually did a number on me and I couldn't help but feel like every thing he said must be true. Including the statement that I'm fat..
After dinner I'm of course left with cleaning up the kitchen but I don't really mind, dad goes to bed early and I leave out a relieved breath. He's a heavy sleeper so I'm pretty certain he won't wake up before tomorrow, granting me the rest of the night all to myself.
I grab my phone and keys and leave my house. That damn house.. It used to be so full of life and an all together happy family, now it just mocks me. Reminding me of how different things are and how fucked up my life have become..
I've been driving for 10 minutes when I reach my destination. I get out of the car and unlock the trunk to get out the bag that hide my most treasured belongings. I keep them hidden in my car to make sure my dad doesn't find them and destroy them for the sole reason of watching me break down.
I have to walk a little to get there but when I do it's worth it. When I get to the beach I take it all in before finding a nice spot to settle down.
I have been coming here for years. It's a small part of the beach that is owned by an elderly couple, they own a camping spot close by. The reason I like coming here so much is because they have set up rows and rows of lanterns to keep the beach lit up during the last hours of the day. It's absolutely beautiful.
I like coming here and I always bring with me my art set. It consist of my watercolors, sketchbook, some special kind of hard paper designed to paint on, paintbrushes and practically everything I need to make my paintings.
It was my mother who got me interested in art and painting when I was just a little girl and I still absolutely love it. It's one of the only times during a day that I forget about everything at home and just let myself breath without fear.
***
"Becca would you go wipe down those tables please?" Mrs. Sanford asked me pointing to a couple of tables where a few customers just got up and left. I nodded and got right to it.
It had been a slow day at the cafe so far and I found myself spacing out and thinking about the painting I did last night. It had taken me a few hours but I ended up quite pleased with it. It revolved around my mother, just like most of my other artwork. I made a beautiful landscape, kind of like a meadow and painted a blurry version of a woman standing by herself looking out over the land covered in flowers.
I snapped back and did a little more cleaning before before going back behind the counter and attending to a woman who came in with her little girl hanging on her leg.
I watched as the woman and her child went to leave with her coffee in hand when a young guy came in holding the door for them, he winked at the child and she laughed and smiled happily. I smiled at the hole scene until the guy diverted his gaze from the child to me and I realized it was Harry.
------
Sorry it might seem a bit like a filler chapter but I think it's all important things to know about Rebecca and it was also important to see a bit of the verbal abuse that her dad puts her through.
Please vote and comment:-)
Next chapter will be up soon, I've already written a little bit of it:-)
I promise that one direction will soon be a much bigger part of the story:-) we are just getting started so hang in there:-)