I'm silent as the slap stings my cheek.
I know better than to ask why.
"Make dinner," she snaps before stomping upstairs to her bedroom, probably to take a "beauty rest."
I sigh heavily as I can feel the welt on my cheek. It's definitely going to bruise; she made sure to slap me with her left hand that has her wedding ring set on it.
I see my father seated in his usual chair, silent as he watches the television.
"How are you?" I ask him, walking over and kneeling in front of him, deciding to ignore the fact that he saw his wife slap me but is choosing to pretend he didn't. Like he always does.
He grunts as a reply and signals for me to move out of his way so he can see the television.
"Nice talk," I grumble to myself before standing and going into the downstairs bathroom to wash up and check the bruise.
"Well shit," I say quietly as I see her ring left a small cut in the middle of the quickly-forming bruise just underneath my right eye.
I grab my first aid kit and apply a small band-aid, wincing only slightly as I apply the pressure to adhere the bandage properly.
I've had worse.
Once I'm bandaged, I go to the kitchen to make dinner. After searching the cabinets and fridge momentarily, I decide to make a simple meal of chicken and rice.
I worked a double shift today, and my feet are throbbing from standing for twelve hours straight.
After the food is ready, I make a plate for my father and bring it to him as I do every night, and he ignores me completely as I cut his chicken up for him and feed it to him since he's become too weak to feed himself. While I'm feeding my father, the smell of the cooked food has brought my step mother from her hibernation, and after a few minutes in the kitchen, she scurries back to her room, ignoring our presence.
After my father finishes his meal, I take his dishes and head back into the kitchen to make myself a plate so I can finally eat, but I see that my step mother has dumped the leftover food in the trash.
I would be angry, but she does this every night. I was just too exhausted to remember to make my plate and hide it first before feeding my father.
I wash the dishes and after drying them and putting them away, I go back into the living room to see if my father needs anything, to which I get a silent "no" as he shakes his head.
"I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight. I love you," I say to him and he nods his head slightly while keeping his eyes glued to the television.
I slowly make my way to my bedroom upstairs, being careful not to make a noise to alert my step mother that I'm up here.
The only time she ever does anything for her husband is when she helps him into his bed in the downstairs bedroom. The only reason she does that is because she likes to sit in the chair he usually uses to watch trashy reality shows late at night.
I decide to skip a shower; I'll take one in the morning. I'm not allowed to use the upstairs bathroom, and I'm far too exhausted and sore to make my way back downstairs.
I change into some comfortable pajamas and make sure my alarm is set for 5 in the morning. I've volunteered for double shifts every day this week because money is getting harder to save since my step mother spends most of it on unnecessary luxuries.
I'm lucky that I can salvage enough to pay for my father's medications and treatments with her greedy hands always asking for more.
I feel myself drift off to sleep almost immediately after my head hits my pillow.
Suddenly, I'm standing in the same familiar, desolate street.
Nothing around me except the emptiness.
"Hello?" I yell out.
No answer.
Hours go by with no sound except my cries for anyone to hear me. The darkness is as consuming as it always is and I can't help but to sit down on the empty street and pull my knees to my chest.
I'm all alone.
My eyes widen and I immediately stand back up when I see the silhouette of someone about half a mile away, slowly walking down the street away from me.
"Hey! Wait!" I scream as loudly as I can as I start to run as fast as my unsteady legs will carry me. "Please!"
I expect the figure to keep walking away from me, but they stop in their place, keeping their back to me.
As I run closer and closer, I notice the figure is tall and strongly built with dark, shaggy hair; the figure is definitely a man.
Nothing can be heard except the sound of my feet hitting the pavement underneath me and my heavy breathing as I continue to run towards the man.
But no matter how fast I run, I cannot close the distance between the two of us; it's like I'm running in place.
"Please help me!" I scream.
The figure's shoulders tense, and I can see him slowly turning his head to look behind him at me.
But as soon as I see the beginning of his jawline as he turns, my eyes snap open and I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat.
"What the hell was that?" I whisper to myself as I hold my face in my shaking hands.
I take deep breaths to try to steady the overwhelming dizziness I feel, and slowly, I come back to my senses.
Something is changing; my nightmare has been different for two nights in a row now.
I've always been alone in the dream. Why has that man suddenly been making an appearance? Who is he?
I grab my phone and check the time.
4:38 A.M.
I sigh in frustration. There's no point in going back to sleep.
I drag myself out of bed and grab my work uniform before silently making my way downstairs, careful not to wake anyone up as I go into my bathroom to get ready for another 12 hour shift.
