Fix Me | L.H

The Neighbor

Shouting.

The terrible shouting  I had gotten used to since mom left started, as well as the pounding. My heart, like always jumps at the sudden noise and the blood from my face drains.

"Aubrielle!" Again, the pounding.

I feared that one of these days, the door would end up crumbling, but right now that was the least of my worries.  "Aubrielle! Open the door!"

Peter's words were sluggish, his lips dragging on every syllable due to his intoxication. He was drunk again, but that was no surprise. "Daddy's home!" I don't know if that's his favorite phrase, but he always uses it with the same dry and mocking tone. Every single time he decides to come back home.

Although I should be used to this, my heart refused to calm down and my breathing hitches. I stood from where I was seated on the couch and grabbed a vase from the coffee table beside me. I really hoped I didnt have to use it on him, it never really got to the point of violence.

My heart was beating hard and fast, threatening to rip through me in an attempt to escape. I try to calm down and stop my face from showing any emotion that might mark me as weak. I rethink things and bolt for the stairs so that he wouldn't find me home but I realize I'm too late when the door is thrown open and his presence locks me in place, hands still placed firmly on the beautiful vase.

This is the man who calls himself my "father" I thought. Even the word itself disgusted me. I cant remember the last time I called him "father" or the last time he acted like one and  I can't imagine the word coming out of my lips, not now, maybe not ever.

His icy blue eyes held so much hate in them and like always they made me wondered what I could have done to cause this hate towards me. His filthy hands hold a half empty bottle of cheap scotch but that is not what gives away his drinking habits, his smell of scotch reached my nostrils as soon as he opened the door. The smell was coming out of his pores and was permanently engraved on his clothes.

His stubble is gray and filthy, poking out in weird patches. Anyone who saw him would thing he was homeless, of course they didn't know how rich he was.

"Get out!" I shout. My voice sounds pathetic and I want so badly to run towards the stairs, but I knew better than to run from him. He'd probably just chase after me and throw whatever was in sight, and then I'd surely end up dead.

"Why? You didn't miss me?" He chuckles.

"You were gone for three weeks, getting drunk! I was fine without you. Please leave, Peter. " I sigh, my words gaining more confidence by the second.

He  growls. "You ungrateful girl." He says in between hiccups. He takes three unsteady steps towards me and I instinctively stepped back. "You live in my house. Under my roof." He points a finger at me, and right now, I feel as if he's trying to plunge it straight through my guts.

I know you'd think anyone in their right mind would leave and just look for somewhere new to stay, but I wasn't going down without a fight. I wasn't going to leave this house to a man who wastes all his money on beer and drugs. He's loaded with money and yet doesn't pay a single bill.

"I pay the bills while your out getting drunk and being your good for nothing self." I say calmly, and suddently I am no longer scared, just angry. Its the same anger that always fuels me, the same anger that always keeps me going and working my butt off. The world has a funny way of working and I hate it, all of it.

"Get out of my sight before I do something that will make you regret everything that you said." He sneers.

I couldn't come to say anything else for fear that I would do something I'd regret. I should wish for him to be dead, but I couldn't come to ever think that. The only thing I always questioned was, why me?