Under Wings of Grace (Discontinued)

10 - Burn

10 - Burn

Erin was ill, sick with a fever. Her head was as hot as an overused hand warmer. She was breaking even 38 degrees Celsius.

Mr Bishop helped Robin run cool compress towels every so often. He stayed home to cook chicken noodle soup on the cooktop and delivered it to her like he was her servant. Her servant. She laid peacefully asleep, her eyebrows weren't creased as they were when she was awake. That eased Robin's mind.

"Robin, go get another cold compress."

Dutifully, she obeyed. As she shuffled down the stairs, she thought about how Erin was having so much fun last week with her mum, but someone from the park must have been sick. Robin couldn't help but wonder how many other children were suffering like little Erin was. All laid up in bed, unable to play with their friends. It was sad.

Her hand grazed the icy bean bags and she froze.

Bam! Bam! Bam! The fists kept crashing on her ribs and chest. Oh God it hurt. She clutched her waist and curled like a caterpillar, wishing that her daddy wasn't drunk off his ass. Biting her lip and squinting her eyes, she let her body roll and flop in accordance to his knuckles' rap.

Robin's father was either an affectionate drunk or a mean drunk. He was grumpy in general, but drinking was a whole different ballpark. More often than none, it was aggravation that ruled his warped mind after a night at the pub. His fists pounded and pounded on his daughter, again and again, unrelenting, unrestrained, with slight predictability in his moves.

As Robin shielded her extremities, she didn't cry. He wouldn't allow it, so she couldn't do it. It was a weakness, an inexcusable offence according to Mr Elliott. Eventually he stopped his assault, leaving with a moody grumble as he stomped away.

Her breath hitched as she writhed on the stained carpet. She made a mental note to clean it later, but she knew that no matter how hard she scrubbed forever would remain a reminder of her sins.

Although her face barely took any of the brunt, it still thrived with pain beating like a pan. He may have quit but the throb didn't. Twisting her face, she clenched her jaw as she struggled to sit. Every punishment followed the same ritual. This time she arrived home late. In a way, the beating had been all worth it.

"Robin! Come on! I'm not getting any younger!"

She snapped out of her trance and peered down. Her hand ached from the cold air. Pushing the door close, she turned around. "I'm sorry, I'm coming!" Quickly yanking a fabric towel from the drawer, she took two steps at a time while wrapping the beanie inside it.

Stepping into the room, the door squawked.

"I'm sorry."

"Here, take this down and don't take forever."

"Okay." She nodded twice as the melted pack sagged in her hand. With a quick peek behind her, she noticed Mr Bishop's palm smoothing the damp strands on Erin's sweaty forehead.

His form slumped and his head tilted to the side. At that moment, he was all human. Every fibre of his being was the father that Erin begged for. It was the same father she pleaded for almost a decade.

Her heart ached with a twinge of jealousy but she let it go at that moment too. She saw the dangerous side of him, the side that reminded her of her father. The lust in his eyes were undeniable that night, and when she refused his advances, he flipped. Luckily, the yellow bruise on her rib was almost completely sealed.

As she quietly descended, she kept the memory if his dark side at bay. Maybe it was just a moment of weakness? He didn't drink heavily when Erin was in the house, and he didn't actually lay a cruel hand on her either. She let it go to move on. People deserved second chances, after all, she got one before.