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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: FATHER

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: FATHER

Content warning: child abuse, domestic abuse

A twelve-year-old Vaughn sat in the corner of his closet, clutching onto his sister and sanity as if they would both be taken away at any moment.

They heard the creaking of the wooden staircase above them, and him yelling downstairs, and they stayed frozen in place. Motioning to Siara to stay quiet, staring up at the short ceiling above them, behind a thick rack of clothes, the plush orange sweatshirt nearest to him brushed against his skin. The unventilated space smelled of unworn, brand new shoes, and he was certain a spider had crawled away from them a second ago.

They both cried silently. Otherwise, he might find out they were in there. Tears falling down the sides of their face, trickling down between their temples and their cheeks.

His closet barely fit them both along with his things, but they managed, huddled side by side in the darkness. The lack of light should have made him fearful, but it didn't. If anything, it gave him a false sense of security. He knew that his father could simply flip the switch and light would flood the carpeted area, but until then, the darkness hid them from sight.

Vaughn had locked his bedroom door behind them, even though he knew that his father, Ivan, could get in regardless of the door being locked, as he had done so the week before. But he had still hoped it would deter him.

He felt a rush of anger. If a mere gift card could be used to maneuver the lock to get into his bedroom, what was the point of having a lock?

To him, locks had always symbolized a sort of safety. Security. They represented the last of the freedom that they never really had in the first place.


A year before, when Siara tried to get away from Ivan and hide in her room, he had come and just taken the whole door off. They couldn't even be alone in their rooms, or safe in their own home.

Ivan never tried to parent, he just tried to control. And if he was angry or sad, the rest of the house was guaranteed to feel it. 

Vaughn considered him the robber of his own home, as he robbed his family of their emotional and mental wants and needs. No true safety, no true freedom, no true love. Just the illusion of it. Always just the illusion of it.

He was trapped in a situation he wouldn't be able to escape for six years.
He didn't know what to do. He only knew what not to do. Don't let him win.

He tried his best to protect Siara and his mother. He stood up to him, constantly. But with that, only came the full hatred of his father. 

Of course, Ivan wasn't always all bad. That's what made it so much harder, Vaughn thought.

There were still fun fishing trips, and vacations to Canada and California. There were still inside jokes and board games. There were still times when Vaughn felt bad for his father, and the emotional trauma his own parents had put him through.

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