I felt, more than heard, the vibrations of the garage door as it opened. I heard my dad drive in and cut the engine. My nerves were scrambled, my hands clammy, and breathing irregular as my heart threw itself against my rib cage. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.
You can do this, I reminded myself, it's just dad.
But what if you're wrong?
I shook my head. I was going to do this. I couldn't hide it any longer.
I heard the doorknob turn and I jumped, turning my head towards the door. My dad walked in and grunted a hello to me before walking into the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and the rattling of bottles. I sighed a little. Not again.
My hands were shaking as he came back into the living room, a beer in each hand, and sat in his arm chair, across from me. He put one of his bottles down and fumbled with the remote, turning the TV on to a random cop show. I looked down into my lap, waiting for him to say something.
After a few swigs from his beer, he finally looked away from the show and eyed me.
"You finish your summer homework yet?"
I looked up nervously. "I, uh--"
He interrupted me angrily. "I swear to God Sophia, if you get to school and start failing because you didn't fucking do anything all summer--"
"I know, I'm sorry, I j-just, just wanted to talk to you?"
He huffed. "What?"
I clenched my fists to stop the shaking. "Please, please don't be mad--"
"Shit, what the hell did you do now?"
I winced. I hate it when he swore at me.
"Nothing Dad, it's just--"
I paused, took a deep breath to steady myself, and looked up at him.
"I'm gay."
I watched his expression morph first into shock, then into anger as he stood up and started towards me. Terrified, I turned and ran, locking myself in my room just as he reached the door. He pounded on it with his fists and screamed, "NO! NOT IN MY FUCKING HOUSE!"
He continued pounding on the door as I desperately backed up to the opposite wall, waiting for the screaming to stop, for him to calm down. I crawled onto my bed and hid underneath the pillows, like that would protect me from his anger.
Eventually the knocking slowed, then stopped and I heard him sit down against my door and start saying, "Why? Why? What did I do to deserve this?"
But I knew he wasn't talking to me. He was talking to his God. The one who told him to hate people like me.
I heard him get up and lumber away towards the kitchen and open and slam cabinets angrily. I knew what he was looking for. Dad always kept a backup case of beer in the cabinet in case he ran out unexpectedly. I shuddered. I guess the shame of having a gay daughter was worse than having to stomach warm beer.
I knew that there was no way he'd let me stay here any longer, so I grabbed a bag and started packing. Clothes, toothbrush, toiletries, essentials would go. I looked around at everything I would leave behind. Pictures of me and my dad at games, little league championship trophies. This year's team photo, my dad in his coach's uniform, me in my jersey with 44 on the back.
My lucky number.
I reminisced sadly at all the happy memories that we'd shared. All the times he'd coached me, made me a better player, a better person. But it was all for nothing. I ended up disappointing him anyway. I always did.
Then I remembered that the league tournament was tomorrow, and my team had a real shot at winning. But I wasn't going to be there.
After an hour had passed I just sat on my bed. I heard him in the hallway, drinking his beer. I wanted to vomit at the sound. He was the only man I knew who could drink like that.
If he gets hammered--
My thoughts were interrupted and my heart jumped into my throat as I heard a key fit into the lock on my door as my dad opened it. So he was sober enough to work a door. But was that a good thing or a bad thing?
I hid my bag behind my back as he stormed in, staggering awkwardly. I looked around him into the hallway, seeing his two beer bottles from earlier on the floor empty, along with four others from the case from the kitchen. My dad always was one for drinking his problems away. Like that would make what I had told him disappear.
"What are you doing?" he slurred angrily.
"N-nothing--" I stuttered.
He walked over to me and grabbed the bag I had packed. He turned it over and emptied my clothes and essentials onto my bed."Oh no. You're not going anywhere."
I looked up into his eyes, terrified, as a wolfish grin spread across his face.
"You've got a game tomorrow, catcher."
I woke up with a start, covered in a cold sweat. My heart was pounding. I looked frantically around the dark room, searching for his shadowy figure, until I remembered that I was at Anna's house now.
Not my dad's.
My breathing slowed. I rolled over to my nightstand and turned on my phone to check the time. Two AM. Great.
I had been sleeping fitfully all night, but as soon as I finally fell into a deep sleep I had a nightmare. I had my first softball open field after school today, and I really wanted to make a good impression, but I didn't know how I could do that on only about three hours of sleep.
I turned back over, flipped my pillow to the cool side, and laid there on my side, looking out the window. I couldn't sleep with the blinds shut because I always wanted a little light if I woke up. I stared at the moon for a little, trying to fall back asleep.
But after a half an hour I just couldn't.
I sighed, resigning myself to a difficult day tomorrow. I knew it was going to be impossible for me to get more sleep.
Then I remembered the bottle of Jack Daniels Anna kept in the pantry.
If I had a drink or two, I could probably fall asleep faster.
The thought seemed reasonable enough, so I acted on it. I walked quietly from my bedroom into the kitchen. I could hear Anna's soft snores coming from the other room, which made me breathe a little easier as I shuffled through the pantry, searching for the whiskey. I finally found it, in the very back. I rolled my eyes. How predictable.
I reached out to grab it, but I hesitated. My mind flashed back to memories of my dad blackout drunk, passed out on the couch, smelling like beer. Did I really need this? Yes, I told myself, you do. I knew that it would help, and that if I didn't get sleep I couldn't play well tomorrow.
Besides, I was nothing like my dad.
I pulled the Jack free, then hissed in a quick breath as I accidentally brushed against a bag of chips. In the silence of the middle of the night, it sounded like a gunshot to me. I shot a quick glance back towards Anna's room. If she woke up and found out I was drinking, I was screwed. Thankfully, her snores continued, and I exhaled quietly. I gently worked the cap off, terrified of making noise. Thankfully the seal was already broken. I thought about grabbing a glass, but decided against it. She might notice it, especially since my dumbass would probably leave it out.
So instead I took a swig right from the bottle. The liquor burned the back my throat, but it was a pleasing sensation. I sat on the counter and took another drink. I could already feel my nerves numbing. My hands stopped shaking as my brain calmed down. I breathed easier, feeling the tension in my chest relax immediately. This was a nice feeling. I could get used to it. The feeling of numbness that came with alcohol was something I had been trying to achieve by myself ever since my dad kicked me out. I didn't want to think about what had happened. I didn't want to remember.
Before I knew it, I drank half the bottle. I shrugged. With how often Anna drank, it would be a while before she even noticed. If she ever did. In fact, the reason she had the whiskey in the first place was a mystery.
Would she really miss it?
I paused again. Would she?
Nah.
I put the cap back on the bottle, tucked it under my arm and walked, a little less carefully, back to my room.
After placing it behind the toilet cleaner under my bathroom sink, I crawled back onto my bed and underneath the blankets. Not soon after, I fell into the deepest sleep I'd experienced since moving.
I could get used to that.