Chapter Two * Tyrant -
Your dad's face immediately darkened faster than a thundercloud would.
He angrily strode over to you.
You flinched and cowered in anticipation.
You heard the footsteps of your mother following him.
Then your dad grabbed you by the hair and roughly yanked your head up to look at him.
Your eyes watered; you whimpered slightly.
"How much did you hear?" he demanded, getting up in your face.
"I-" you began.
He yanked your head up even further, doubling the pain and uncomfortable feelings swirling through you.
You could see your mother staring disapprovingly at you; you knew she wasn't going to help. She never did.
"Well?" your mother butted in.
Your dad yanked on your hair again.
You head looked up unnaturally.
"I-I didn't hear anything!" you rasped fearfully. "Don't-please don't hurt me!"
Your dad let go of your hair, and you sank down, your scalp burning. But you didn't dare rub at it; doing such would practically guarantee more pain.
You didn't want any more pain.
Your dad raised his hand back and cracked it down on your left cheek.
You flinched and gingerly placed one shaking hand on the side of your face. This had happened enough to where you didn't look at him in surprise of disbelief anymore.
Fear was the only emotion that showed on your face anymore; the only emotion your parents ever saw you with. Did they enjoy that? Did they want to bask in your pain?
Your dad raised his hand back again.
You flinched in anticipation, but, to your and your father's surprise, your mother stopped his hand.
"Think about it," she whispered urgently and manipulatively. "This is a perfect time to do it."
Do what?
You stared at the cruel woman whose DNA you shared.
Your father grinned and lowered his hand.
What?
He placed his hand in his pocket and drew out something long and dark.
Oh, no.
This is worse, you thought frantically. This is much, much worse.
You let out a small shriek and raced to your room, your father right behind you. He shut the door behind you two.
You got inside and turned to try and close the door, but he was already there, so you instead tried to swing your heavy backpack. He caught it, however, and used it to make you fall heavily down onto the floor.
He looked over you, grinning like only someone with murderous intent could.
But to your surprise, he didn't shoot the gun.
Instead he looked at your body hungrily.
"I think there's enough time to play before you die," he said lustfully, putting a hand on the waistline of his pants.
Oh, god. Oh, no. This wasn't happening, you thought fervently. No, this wasn't. It couldn't. It wasn't.
"No-!" you gasped fearfully. You tried not to panic or have a panic attack (lately you'd started having them).
Your father leaned down on you, smothering you.