The night was warm and peaceful. The sky held tiny sparkling stars that twinkled and waited there to be wished upon. Everything seemed quiet, until a loud crash of the front door broke the silence. He was home.
"Mina!" my father yelled from the bottom of the stairs. I winced at his deep booming voice that seemed to come from all around me in the tiny seclusion of my bedroom. I was too afraid to respond to his call.
"Mina, get your ass down here, now!" I was frozen, and still did not move or speak. "Alright, you asked for it" I heard him say as his loud footsteps began to make their way up the stairs to my bedroom door. I shot up in bed and held the covers up against my chest as if they would offer some sort of protection from the pain I knew was about to come.
A shadow blocked out the light that shown in from under the door. There were two knocks, as if a friendly visitor was there. "Mina" he cooed my name, "Open the door"
I suddenly found the strength the move, and I silently got out of bed and huddled in the corner, shaking with fear and anxiety. Why didn't he just come in and get it over with? Why couldn't he just forget about me for one night? Why couldn't all this torment just end?
With a loud crack, he kicked the door open and his looming shadow stood still. I knew he was looking at me, but I refused to look in those angry eyes. He was drunk. He was never himself when he was, but he just couldn't seem to stop. He was addicted to the stuff.
"Why don't you ever listen to me?!" he yelled as he began to approach me. I couldn't stop shaking and my eyes refused to open. I just kept huddled in my corner and waited for the pain. "I'll teach you to listen when you're told to do something" his voice grumbled.
I held back a cry as he grabbed my arm and yanked my whole body out of the corner. When I was on the floor, he began to slap and punch anything he could get his hands on. I tried my best to cover my face, so instead he hit my torso all over. I could feel the welts and bruises from his hands begin to form. The burning sting of his hands after he hit me was almost unbearable. But I held back any crying. If I cried, he's only hit me more.
When he was tired and to exhausted to lift his hand once more, he stood up straight. "That'll teach you… little whore," he mumbled as he staggered towards the doorway and slammed the door closed. The darkness consumed the room once again, and my whole body shook with sobs. The tears flowed down my face and I lay there on the floor all night crying, until I finally fell asleep.
This had happened every night for almost 3 months. Ever since my mother died, my father drank more and more until he became this whole other person. This evil, unremorseful person. Yet, when he was sober, he never remembers laying a finger on me. Like it was just a dream that floated away in the night.
I hoped that I wouldn't have any bruises on my face. Tomorrow was the first day of school. It would be my senior year and I couldn't wait to finish High School so I could leave for college, and leave this unending nightmare that I called home.