Chapter 2 - Daddy Dearest

*Content warning: This chapter contains very explicit writing. Reader discretion is advised. *

          She called him up the next day and they fought for a while. I wasn't able to sleep well for days afterwards, and even then I'd sometimes wake up thinking that he was there setting fire to the house. My mom explained he just said it because he was angry, but I was sure that he did it just to scare me. My mom did the best to raise me, but as a single mother she had to work along time. She didn't graduate college and worked at McDonald’s, days were spent next door with a babysitter.

            My mom had married Him in high school, against the advice of her family, and his. I guess they were right, since my parent's ended up getting divorced. My mom said the normal things to us, that they still loved us, and it wasn't our fault, but since He did all the working she had a hard time adjusting. I spent most of my day watching TV or daydreaming, my mom would sometimes want me to go down the block and make friends, and I had started to go to his house every other weekend. It was the part of my life that I dreaded. I started school (much to my disappointment) kicking and screaming the first few days.

            He always was concerned with what I ate, He would always threaten me and force it on me, which just made me dislike the food's I didn't like even more. Of course me sitting there not eating till He got fed up and sent me to bed would only work for so long...

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            I dreaded this moment for two weeks…his house. He came late as usual, around 10:30 or 11:00, though He was supposed to show up around 9:00. He blamed it on traffic or whatever He could think of, and of course had a fight with my mom every time. Then we would get in the car and drive the short distance (maybe a fifteen minute drive) to his house. Then He would go to the kitchen and get a beer and I would either go to bed, or if He was in a "fatherly" mood He'd have us sit down and watch some TV with him.

            At this time He lived in a little apartment, barley three rooms, and me and my brother slept in the living room/bedroom on the same bed, him sleeping on the couch a few feet away. He wasn't the best father, I remember one time that I unfortunately happened to get sick at his house, and vomited while my brother was playing whatever video game system was popular at the time, He ran to me, grabbed me and almost tossed me into the bathroom on the toilet.

            He called my mom and asked her, "What do you do when your kid's get sick?" They talked for a while, He ended up fighting with her for a little while then slammed the phone and gave me a cup of apple juice and just told me to sit there. He then just took me home later, as to not catch anything.

            He wasn't the best with my self-esteem either, if I ever did anything wrong he would let me know, and many times, loudly. Most of my time spent at his house was either in bed or sitting at the dinner table. He wanted me to eat right, and would make sure I ate my vegetables, if I sat there all night. I grew up on the outside like any other person, but the inside I was torn. I was nervous whenever I went out, and due to the harsh words and abuse from him I had little to no self-esteem, and had few friends at school.

            Eventually He moved out of that small apartment, to another small, but bigger apartment. The forcing me to eat also soon became physical. I was lying in bed now just trying to think of the past, of a good memory to remember, but I couldn't think of one. I heard him screaming for me to come for dinner and my stomach immediately started to hurt. I knew what was coming. I washed up in the bathroom and sat down silently in the kitchen. "What the fuck took you so long?" He said throwing down a plate of food in front of me, my brother was already there eating.

            I always thought that He liked my brother better, but later just learned that my brother played his game. I was stubborn and wouldn't give in, or in alot of cases couldn't give in. My brother went along with everything He did or said, and so they fought alot less then me. I slowly sipped on my water, as I knew I wouldn't get anymore, He didn't want me filling up on drinks and not finishing my food. I ate the meat, trying to mix in some of the corn in with it, to mask the taste. "Why are you only eating fucking three pieces of corn at once? You're never going to finish it,” He hissed at me sipping on his beer and shoveling a forkful of everything on the plate into his mouth. “you won’t be getting anymore meat either to fill up on.”

            "I don't like it." I said softly.

            “Don’t you understand if you don’t eat, then you’re going to grow up and get sick and die? Do you want to get diseased and die?” I shook my head. “Then why the fuck don’t you eat it?” We go through this every time you come here, just eat the fucking food!”

            “I don’t like it.” I squeaked, getting more and more nauseous as I felt the corn break apart in my mouth, superseding the taste of the meat. All I could think about was what would happen after my brother left, I knew what would happen, and over the years it has gotten worse, from just verbal abuse to physical abuse.

            They talked a bit to each other, and he would point out that I wouldn’t be getting another drink until I finished the vegetables, as well as continuing to harass me to eat them more then one or two at a time. I just stayed quiet for most of it, and eventually He and my brother finished, and left the kitchen.

            I was so nauseous now that I wasn’t even hungry. I maybe ate a quarter of the corn He had laid out for me to eat, which to me was a lot, but to him was barley anything. I knew he’d come in, but I did what I always do and just pushed it away and laid my head down on the table in the dark room, trying to imagine myself somewhere else, another world, somewhere I could be happy.

            He eventually would come in and scream and yell at me when he needed a new beer. Just the oldest insults told in the newest ways. I’ve heard them all before, and tried to ignore them; with my usual response of I don’t like it. He just cursed at me and left to watch TV with my brother. I would glance at the clock every so often, knowing in the pit of my stomach that the time would come soon. Eventually it did and He came into the room cursing to himself, took out a beer from the fridge and sat down.

            I sat up, very nervous as He took a sip. Dew was already beginning to form on the can and my mouth was suddenly very dry. All my water had been long gone, and whatever food I had left was cold. “Why must you do this every time?” He asked.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Why can’t you just eat the fucking food? Do you honestly want to grow up and be diseased? You’ve seen the commercials for all those dieing kids over there, do you want to be one of them?” I shook my head. “Then fucking eat!” He screamed.

            “I don’t like it.” I said softly.

            He screamed at me and slapped me. I cried out but stayed there, too scared to say or do anything. Sighing He scooped up a forkful of the corn and aimed it at my mouth. “Open your fucking mouth.”

            I shook my head. “Please.” I choked out.

            “Fucking open your mouth now!” He said screaming, getting more angry. He stood up and grabbed my hair. I moaned in pain as he shoved the fork into my mouth. It scratched up against my gums and I could taste blood as well as the corn. I gagged as He took another forkful. “Chew!”

            He repeated the process and I gagged more violently, causing the fork to jab against the top of my mouth. I winced, from pain and from the taste, as tears rolled down my cheek. My stomach gave in and I felt vomit coming. He loaded another forkful just as I vomited all over the plate and table, some of it dripping off onto the floor.

            “Jesus fucking Christ!” He screamed. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” He slapped me again and loaded another forkful. I gagged again just looking at it, most of the corn was covered in vomit. “Open your mouth!”

            “I threw up.” I said softly.

            “What’s your point? You have to eat so eat! Making yourself throw up isn’t going to get you out of it.” He repeated the process again, and instantly I threw up again, and dry heaved for a few seconds. Tears rolled freely down my face. “Fucking stupid piece of shit.” He screamed, slapping me again.” He walked over to the sink and came back with some paper towels. “Clean this shit up and go to bed. And don’t fucking come down!” He screamed.