Warning: This scene contains violence and swearing, which some readers might find disturbing. You might want to skip if ur not comfortable with that. Take care!
Evangeline
Dad's hands fist around my throat. I can't breathe properly, but I know better than to open my mouth. I am, after all, too familiar with that bruising touch.
He slams me against the wall, impact making my bones rattle, and slaps me hard across the face. My cheek stings, but I stare up at him defiantly.
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU FUCKING BITCH?!" He roars.
Rage and pure hatred fills his eyes. I go limp in his grasp. It is best to wait until he finishes with his tirade. Even though I've heard all this a million times, the words still stick into my chest like knives.
"IT'S BAD ENOUGH YOU WERE BORN. YOUR MOTHER, THAT CUNT-FUCKING USELESS LIKE YOU! IF YOU REALLY WANT TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME, WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO AND DIE?"
He pulls his other fist back to punch me. He's going to aim for my face this time. I'm sure of it. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the hit, like I always do.
Crack.
I am flung to the ground. I hit my head against something hard. The iron grip around my neck has vanished, but the painful phantom touch is still there.
I curl up into a ball. Through hazy vision, I look up at my saviour.
Christopher. My darling, dear brother.
He stands between my father and I. Did he take the hit for me? I hope not.
He casts a worried glance over his shoulder, but I shake my head. What if my father goes berserk on him, too? I couldn't stand my beloved brother, or. Any of them getting hit.
The bizarre thing is, as soon as my father sees him, a pleasant smile spreads across his face.
"Christopher! My son. Please forgive me! I didn't mean to do that..." he steps forward and sets a hand on his shoulder, looking at him beseechingly. What the hell?
"Um, yeah, Tony." Chris looks uncomfortable. I would've teased him about his expression, in other circumstances. My muddled brain struggles to comprehend what's happening.
"Call me Dad."
My heart breaks at those words.
My father returns to typing on his computer like nothing just happened.
I try to rise, but its like swimming in tar. My limbs are heavy. They refuse to obey. My head spins. Maybe I hit my head too hard.
Arms come around me and scoop me up. I feel myself being carried somewhere.
"It's gonna be alright." Chris whispers.
I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes.
No, its not. But I let myself believe it, for just a while.
