Memoirs of Retribution

Chapter 2 - Dungeon of Depravity

After her funeral, my life didn't get any easier. The grief of losing the love of his life still consumed my father every day, and his resentment of me continued in the same angry manner. It was heartbreaking to see and as much as I tried to make his life easier, he just pushed me further away.

After all was said and done, he started drinking more and more. I think it was to numb the pain of his loss, a way of self-medicating, an easy escape from a reality without her in it. He loved mom more than anything in the world, and unfortunately never got over losing her.

I looked after him as best a fourteen-year-old could, making simple meals, cleaning the house, and caring for him. I struggled to keep my grades up at school with all this extra responsibility I had taken on, but I managed so that the school board wouldn't notice and inform my father, which would only turn into further bitter resentment and reprimand.

I suppose I also didn't want anyone to see how bad things had gotten and informed social services, I didn't want to be taken away from him too. I don't think he would have coped with that well at all, so I did what I had to do for us to get by.

One month turned into six quickly and dad lost his job, he turned up drunk on more than one occasion and was deemed unfit for duty and dismissed. This furthered his spiral down into depression to the point that I had to quit school to look after him full time.

I wrote the principal of my school a letter posing as my dad informing them, I was moving school and the state, so things wouldn't seem suspicious.

By this point, he had stopped eating and taking any sort of care of himself. So, what was I supposed to do? I thought that once he got over the shock of losing his job, he might come around again and I would be able to go back to school, but I was so wrong.

His downward spiral progressed, and he started having new 'friends' over at the house, none of them looked very friendly, even the women. The loud cheers and laughter were always accompanied by loud music and alcohol.

I stayed out the way when they were visiting. I kept to my room upstairs and locked the door, only leaving to go to the bathroom on occasion when I was absolutely desperate. I ran into a few of the men and women sometimes, but they didn't really pay me any mind, they were always busy with each other.

The way they were wrapped around each other always made me uncomfortable and awkward. Their eyes usually had a funny glaze to them, that I didn't understand at the time. Now, I know it was drugs and alcohol, and lots of both.

It had been months and the aftermath of these visits were typically the same, empty beer cans and bottles everywhere and other paraphernalia that I was quickly learning was drug-related. Tinfoil wrappers and needles, funny-looking cigarettes, and glass bottles in weird shapes. I cleaned up after them, having nothing else to do and knowing I would be told by my father to do it anyway.

I quietly moved around the people not wanting to wake any of them while they slept. The last time I did that I was called some not very nice names and slapped around the face. I was devastated and really upset, and told my dad right away expecting comfort, it turned out he wasn't bothered in the slightest. Just told me to be more considerate when people are sleeping, then went back to the woman in his and mom's bed.

Weeks passed in the same routine, but I just got on with it. After I cleaned up it was a little afternoon and the house was spick-and-span, I had prepared a nice lunch with what was left in the fridge for myself and my dad.

Today was my birthday, I was fifteen and excited for the day. My dad had promised we would spend the day together and go out to the park, like old times. I had got ready in a casual but fancy red and white striped dress and white ballet shoes before going in search of him. I knocked on his bedroom door with his usual cup of coffee and waited.