Alice's POV:
There's a long silence between us. "I understand, Angel. I'll pick you up at seven." He presses a gentle kiss on the top of my head.
The next day blurs, barely caught by my eyes.
I'm on my doorstep, with Neilson's large coat over my shoulders. My eyes laid on the old brown Welcome Home mat, attempting to gather up all the courage to walk inside the door.
My brain was always searching for any sign, but what sign am I searching for?
My stomach shifts uneasily, and I notice that the hands that I am hugging myself with are pinching into my skin. I release my hands, but then I can't figure out what to do with them, so instead, they clasp and unclasp each other as if in constant need of touch and reassurance.
I couldn't think straight this morning. I put one of Neilson's pocket knives in the wrong pocket and then panicked when I couldn't find it. Yes, Neilson has a collection of rare pocket knives. He only used three of them, one from his papa, another from his dad, and the last one from his younger brother whenever he goes camping. His younger brother gave it to him after they had this huge fight when they first met each other as a peace treaty.
I stood up, but I wasn't ready, so I unnecessarily walked around town. My eyes link to a cafe, and I decide to go inside. Once I got the cup, I sat in the cafe corner for nearly two hours before I went back to the house.
Sitting back at the original spot, I spread my hands like pale starfish around my standard-issue coffee cup. The cup was cold, too, resisting the warmth that struggles to seep into them.
I rushed my trembling fingers through my tangled hair. I must be quite gaunt, but I'll not be looking in the mirror today. I don't want to see my face, probably paler than usual.
I rest my forehead against the nearly empty cup, unable to stop my legs from shaking. The tears drip on the Welcome Home mat. "You can do this, Alice. Just tell him you want to leave. He will understand."
Popping my face back up, I noticed it was completely dark outside. I glance down at my watch, noting the time, 7:16 pm.
I push my hand into my pocket and grab the house key. Unlocking the door, it clicked, and I took a step inside the darkness. Just stepping into the place I once called home makes my breathing rapid and shallow. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples.
"You can do this," I mumble words of encouragement to myself as I take one massive step after another.
I stood in front of the brown door, noticing the dimmed lights lurking behind it. Pushing it open, I walked inside, eyes seeing dad at his usual spot. He sat there, with a bottle of beer in one hand and the remote in the other.
With ill-kempt hair and pallid craggy skin, he did not reflect his age. Dad used to be a handsome man, one who won many women's hearts. He was kind and charming to everyone, even me, years ago.
I remember the days he used to take me to the homeless shelter and orphanage, teaching me how to take care of those who need aids. He used to tell me how they aren't unfortunate, and I shouldn't treat them as such. They just happened to be people whose luck isn't beside them.
Dad and I used to do everything together. We would fish at the lake early in the morning while watching the sunrise. He would take me to the park and push me on swings despite working long hours. I remember the times we laid under the stars inside our poorly built treehouse, and he would teach me about the consolation.
We laughed.
We sang songs.
We danced like goofs.
I wished we could go back to that time together.
Now, looking at him, he is nothing more than an empty shell. The stride of a young man and loving father had been stolen years ago and replaced with nothing but heartache.
I hated it when dad got drunk and hit me, but I hated mom even more for leaving us.
She left without the courage to even say goodbye to dad. She left without giving him a proper reason. She left with a single fucking note saying she doesn't love him anymore.
Why?
It's because he didn't fucking pay enough attention to her.
That was the fucking reason why she left us!
He worked night after night to get her the things she wanted. He worked to give her the house she wanted. He worked, so she doesn't have to. He worked so she could have tea time on Monday afternoon with her friends.
Finally, after standing there for nearly twenty minutes, he notices me. He starts laughing, his drunken laugh.
I clenched my hands together, feeling my nails digging into my flesh. "Stop drinking." My eyes water, and I can feel the aching pain rising inside my chest.
Dad laughs, "What?" he's trying to not slurred, but it was useless.
I inhaled a deep breath, feeling my tears dripping down. "Don't you think this is enough?" my voice cracks, lungs unable to breathe correctly. "All these years, wasting yourself over a woman who doesn't appreciate everything you have done. Is it really worth it?"
He stood up, swaying back and forth as he walked towards me. I firmly held my ground, eyes glaring into his, "Watch it. That's your mother you're speaking of."
I chuckle, unamusingly, and shake my head, taking a few steps backward. "Why? Why are you still protecting her all these years?" I bit my lower lips. "She left you!"
He threw the can of beer against the TV. "Because of you!"
I shook my head, feeling the anger boiling inside of me, and stormed upstairs. Hasistly, I rush towards my closet and grab my duffle bag. "That's it, Alice Lee. You have done what you can. He won't change. He won't fucking change. After all these years, he is still defending that ungrateful bitch."
I shoved some clothes inside my bags and took only what I deemed necessary. I was ready to get away from him. It's been over five years, and he hasn't once changed. I thought he could, over and over, I told myself that one day he would get better.
Even when I know, he won't.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and pushed the bag over my shoulder, knowing Neilson will be here any second.
I'm going to go with him and tell him everything—something I should've done from the start. If I did, we could've gotten help together, and he stood a chance to get better.
But, I was afraid that once everyone found out, someone would take me away. They would send me to an orphanage, and I had to leave everyone behind.
When I walked past my bedroom door, he stood there, glaring at me. I brush past his shoulder. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back. "Where do you think you're g-"
"No!" I scream, shutting him up. Viciously, I yank my arm away from his grip. I clench my hands tightly around the bag. "No more!" My teeth chatter against one another. "No more! I'm done with you."
Dad chuckles unamusingly, "You're done with m-"
Before he can finish his sentence, I cut him off once more. "Yes! I'm done with you! I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to get better one day! For you to hug me and call me your little princess again! I'm sick and tired of being beaten around whenever you're drunk! I'm.so.fucking.tired!"
My breaths were heavy, uneven as his eyes fiercely locked onto mine. I bit my cheeks, forcing blood to lurk inside my mouth as the tears rolled down my red cheeks.
"Then, what are you going to do?" His eyes travel towards the bag on my shoulder.
I straighten my back. "I'm leaving with Neilson. We are going to leave this town and start over." He grabs my bag and pulls it back. "Dad! Let go! I'm not staying here anymore!"
Dad pulls harder, "You're not going anywhere!"
He continues pulling it, and I tug it back. "I hate you!"
His eyes widen at my words, grip losing its strength. No matter how many times he hit me, how hard he has beaten me, I had never said those three words to him.
Because deep inside, I still remember the dad that loved me. How he held me at night, cradling me when I had a nightmare. How he kissed the boo-boo on my skin whenever I tripped or burnt myself. How he stayed up late at night with me, burying ourselves in coffee and sodas, to finish a project I should've completed a long time ago.
The laughter we shared.
The smiles on our faces.
He was more than my dad.
He was my best friend.
My tickle monster
My pillar.
My protector.
Now, everything seemed like a distant memory, and I had finally accepted that, maybe, that man is gone.
He is nothing more than an unrealistic character living inside my memories.
Even when I said I hated him, I know that I didn't mean it because no matter what. The stupid little princess part of me is still hoping; he will get better.
When he let go of the strap, I lost balance. My head slams against the stairway railing, and I roll down the stairs. The world rushes by in a blur, and I know the pain is coming—the air past my face; then boom. I feel my bones move in a way they shouldn't, jangle.
Blood.
Blood.
There's blood leaking between my legs, covering the brown carpets.
"Alice! Alice! Are you okay?!" Neilson shouted, pounding on the door.
My eyes scurry up, seeing dad standing upstairs, regretful eyes staring down at me. His lips moved in brutally slow motions, but I couldn't make out the words.
More pounding. "Alice! Alice! Open the door!"
I didn't move.
I couldn't move.
A door bang open, and I heard a distinct scream: "Alice! Alice!"
Everything was fuzzy.
Taking a few blinks, I saw a bunch of people dressed in white around me. They were screaming, but I didn't hear a single word they were saying. It was hard to breathe, so very difficult. I groaned, feeling the painful sensation on my stomach.
Why does it hurt so much?
My eyes maneuvered onto the ceiling above, made into squares like a grid. The light was bright, painful to the eyes.
"Sir! Sir! We are going to need you to step back!"
"No! I need to be in there with her!"
My eyes were cast from the ceiling towards the man in front of me. Tears were streaming down his eyes as two men in white held him back. The casual white shirt he wore was covered in red - blood. He was fighting, reaching for me.
I reach out my hand for him, but it feels heavy, painfully heavy.
Why? Why does he look so sad?
Don't cry, Muffin. Please, don't cry.