Protect me.

Prologue- Again.

The strong smell of alcohol seeped out of the room.
I clapped my hand over my mouth in an attempt to stop myself from the urge to vomit and turned my body away.
"Freya." A weak voice mumbled from the living room.
Damn it.
"Yes father?" I sighed, turning my body back around and walking into the room with a disappointment look all over my face that I wished he could see.
"Can you buy me another bottle of Hennessey from the corner store," He muttered. I bit the inside of my cheek as I glared at the empty glass bottles of alcohol littered all over the trashy brown couch which was almost 10 years old, the fabric stained with too many colours of my father's collection of wines.
"I'm 17 and I just got home from school. Get it yourself." I snapped, stepping over an empty carton as I tried to make my way over to the kitchen.
A hand grabbed at the back of my hair, almost pulling me down.
"Get your hand off of me," I scowled, twisting around and ripping his 50-year-old, wrinkly hand away, strings of my black hair were curled around his fingers.
I looked up to meet his eyes, my heart climbing up to my throat as I recognized the expression on his face.
"I know you have a fake ID Freya. Get me my drink." Father growled, his eyes droopy as his body slanted to the right from all the alcohol and he nearly lost his balance.
"Leave me alone." I muttered, turning to the kitchen.
"FREYA!" His voice grew louder. But I wasn't going to budge this time. I wasn't going to let him control me like he always did.
"I said no." I hissed, turning around to look him in the eyes when suddenly a fist pounded into my cheekbone and a jolt of pain spread itself across the side of my face. I whimper escaped my mouth and I pressed my lips together before my father could hear. But the triumphant look on his face hinted that he had, and I felt another fist slam into my stomach.
I resisted the urge to let my eyes roll to the back of my head.
My eyes were half closed from the pain, but the moment I saw the next fist coming towards me a voice spoke into my ear.
Do what you did last time.
No.
Do it Freya. Do it again.
My eyes flicked towards the kitchen and I scanned the table top, looking for something dangerous but not too sharp. I stopped at the sight of a box grater in the sink.
Freya! Don't do it! A different voice cried in my mind.
I pushed the doubt and the hesitation to the back of my head and focused my eyes on the box grater.
Move.
My fathers fist was inches away from my face when the grater flung itself at his arm. I winced as it scraped over his skin, his face twisted into a horrible expression, then bounced to the floor with a clang.
My father howled and doubled back, clutching his exposed flesh.
It's only a little bit of blood. A voice in my head reassured.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He cursed. He looked up from his arm, his eyes enraged.
I pushed part of him and darted out of the kitchen. I think he threw a bottle of alcohol at me, but within seconds I was racing up the stairs. I rushed into my room, my heart pounding as I locked the door behind me, my stomach screaming with hunger.
The person I called a father was now pounding on the door, his fists hammering onto the only thing separating us. I drowned the muffled yells out of my ears and sat on the floor with my back against the wall, tilting my head as I tucked my knees under my arms and I curled into a ball.
Here goes another night of me waiting this out until he's asleep when I can finally have some food.
The throbbing discomfort in the back of my head threatened to expand into a powerful migraine which left me with a dreadful feeling in my stomach as I felt a horrible coldness in the air.
I felt like someone was watching me. Again.
It's not like he'll remember this the next day. Something whispered into my ear, so close I could swear I could hear the cold breath run down my cheek. But as soon as I turned my head, that feeling was gone.
Was I the only person that could hear their thoughts out loud? Or was I just crazy.
Feeling overwhelmed, I covered my mouth with my hand to silence the sounds of my cries.
I stared at the wall, my fathers pounding on the wall became slower and slower and I could tell he was about to give up soon.
The side of my face ached from the result of his fists, and I closed my eyes and waited.
But no matter how long I waited, no tears came out.
None.