Bella

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

VALERIE'S POV:

The sound of glass shattering awoke me from my sleep.

Cries and pleads were overpowered by shouts of anger. Doors slammed and opened continuously, and the moment the voices got closer to my bedroom door, I pulled the covers over my head and squeezed my eyes shut, faking sleep.

"Nicolas don't, please!" my mom's voice was heard in an almost whisper.

A thud was heard followed by a scream of pain before my dad spoke up, "Stupid bitch."

I flinched at the screams and cries that left my mom's mouth, but attempted to focus more on how close he was to my room door.

He'd been drinking.

I knew it.

Only when he had a few beers did he dare to put his hands on my mom — on us. His words swayed just as much as his body did when trying to stand still. The heavy boots that he wore caused a creak in the paneled flooring as he walked, and my body began to shake more violently the closer he got.

"Val. . . " his low raspy voice croaked as he entered my room.

I tried my best to fake asleep.

I really did.

But I guess that wasn't good enough because not even a second after he called my name, he ripped my blanket off of my head, bringing me down to the ground with it afterwards.

A small scream left my mouth when my head made contact with my nightstand. A crash was heard, but my vision began to get blurry, so I hadn't looked to know what had fell.

"Your mother tells me that y'all are going to leave me. All alone." he cackled, "She can't do that. She can't leave me, and she can't take you away from me."

Instead of looking up at him I cradled my bleeding head with my hand. Tears were blinding my sight, and the nagging pain in my head caused me to cry even more.

I scooted myself away from his feet while he busied himself with a rant; mumbling curses under his breath such as 'that fucking bitch' and 'stupid.'

It only took me a second to realize that he was cursing my mother, yet she was nowhere near. I squeezed my eyes shut and whimpered in pain at the thought of her leaving me alone with him.

Usually she'd try to fight him off whenever he hit me. She always found a way to make him more angry at her than I, and that always resulted in a beating. It was meant to be mine, but she took it for my sake. She wasn't always there to stop him from hitting me at least twice, but when she did, she put up a fight. The day after or whenever he drank himself to a deep sleep, I'd help her clean up. It was never enough to ease her pain, but it was the best fourteen year old me could do to help her.

My throat became dry at the thought of her being unconscious.

She wouldn't be able to save me this time.

Which meant that I had to make a decision.

A very difficult one.

I could either be brave like her and put up a fight or I could surrender and just allow him to do whatever he pleased.

That could mean multiple things.

I shook my head to rid the thoughts and attempted to stand up, grasping a handful of my hair that was dampened in blood. I didn't know how big the cut was on my head, but I prayed that it wasn't enough to knock me unconscious.