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01 | 𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 II - JULY 27th, 1989
𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆to soulful music play through the radio, Liberty was leaned back into the passenger seat with a sigh watching as the cars go by. Quickly getting to their destination in a timely manner一 weirdly, it encouraged her to count them as if she was counting sheep. Slightly tired and overwhelmed, she leaned against the passenger door feeling the cool leather against her cheek cause her to shiver at the sensation.
The sun was beginning to rise, lukewarm weather and a cool breeze to flow past the open windows caused her eyes to shut. Head bobbing to the beat of the rhythm, she hums beautifully to 'Is it a crime' by Sade. Her mind begins to wander, thinking about last night and what had happened after the chaos. Her body still ached, her mind cloudy and eyes worn out from all the crying. She felt drained completely, hating how they've gotten to the point of separation but felt happy to be free.
𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤
Everything happened in slow motion. The sight of their father beating his own child shut Liberty down. Like a system failure, she sat back paralyzed in her seat. Malfunctioning from shock, she watched wide eyed. Unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say, she felt completely stuck by the deafening sound of her mother's cries from the kitchen.
She cradled Penny in her arms, terrified of the man who slowly stumbled back to his seat with a huff. It kept her in a trance, losing focus on her breathing and failing to notice how quickly her heart was beating.
He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. Blood splayed along his knuckles and gold rings, he placed the cancer stick securely between his lips and lit it up a few clicks later.
The lighter flickering a familiar flame in his eyes, he surveyed it burning the end of the cig. Intensively inhaling the nicotine as his handshakes. Willingly and desperately needing its toxic fumes to suffocate his lungs before making the room hazy.
Her heart pounded faster when she noticed the crimson-colored blood decorated his hand, the same crimson colored blood that painted Penelope's face horribly. Bruises, scratches and gashes all over his face, didn't come as a surprise to him.
Nothing did nowadays.
Richard didn't care, he didn't protest, he didn't mind, he didn't apologize for the destruction he created.
He just nonchalantly observed in silence, feeling his nerves simmer down to a cooling point.
Four cigarettes and two beers later, he realizes the tension was back again. His shoulders constantly rolling back in hopes to release it, was starting to become useless.
Everyone was upstairs by now, treating Penelope's wounds and comforting her after the intense fight that had transpired.
Still sat in his chair looking beyond hazed and drunk ーblankly stared into the eyes of his second eldest.
