I woke in my room. My head ached, and the room was spinning. I closed my eyes to see if that would help my head at all. I opened my eyes a few moments later, relieved to find the spinning had stopped. I didn't know what time it was, but I decided to go to the bathroom to take a cold shower.
Standing under the showerhead, cold water running down my body, I tried to remember what happened: I was dizzy with a sore head and couldn't remember how I got to my bed; did I have a hangover? Then it hit: A hangover. The memories from what happened with my dad came flooding back. I stood frozen in the shower, chills running down my back-and not from the water.
I quickly finished my shower and rushed to get dressed. "Mom!" I yelled once I was fully dressed and halfway through my bedroom door. "Mom! Where are you?"
"I'm over here, Sweety. What's wrong?" She responded. I rushed toward the living room but stopped in my tracks once I looked in the room. My heart dropped and my eyes widened as I took in the scene before me: empty beer bottles all over the floor; my mother, sitting on the black leather couch across from the TV, cuts and bruises running up and down her arms; and finally, my dad-if you could even call him that-sitting in a chair at the far end of the room, smirking while looking between me and my mother.
"Well, isn't this lovely?" He asks rhetorically. "Our family is back together again. After how long now? Seven, eight years? I've missed you both very much," I couldn't handle it.
"How dare you come into our home after eight years and act like everything's okay?" I yelled at him. "You left us when I was a kid, and screwed us over! You treated us like crap and then you left us! You cheated on my mother and you beat the crap out of us! And you have the balls to come back here and act like you're even part of this family?" By that point, I was in tears. My throat hurt, my head pounded and my heart ached. I couldn't believe my father. Especially not after what he said next; "That is no way to treat your father, you piece of shit. I always have been and always will be part of this family and there is nothing you can do about it. Now, get your ass back to your room before we have a repeat of this afternoon."
"No. You've done nothing to earn my respect or the privilege to call yourself my father. Now get the fuck out of this house or I swear to God I will make you suffer the hell you've made us suffer."
My father didn't look scared or threatened in the slightest way. He stood up from his chair, finished his beer, dropping the bottle on the ground with the other seven bottles, and began walking toward me. A wave of fear passed through me, though I tried to keep all emotion from my face. He stopped directly in front of me and smacks me across the face. My mother let out a small gasp and I'd almost forgotten she was there until that point.
"Have this room cleaned up by the time I get back," was the last thing he said before leaving the room.
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