𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫,𝐲𝐨𝐮//𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻

TW: abuse

Sometimes, somewhere in the back of my mind, I wish I had a father who cared about me.

Just one hug and one word would be enough. To hear him tell me that he is proud of me and that he loves me.
See that he is trying.

Mom has tried to play the roles of mother and father at the same time since she was little. But she was never very successful.

I needed a father. My younger brother and sister needed a father.
And what did we get? Years of suffering, tears, and sleepless nights in fear of what he might do.

We were afraid that he would leave and leave us alone.
We wished he would leave.

And when that happened, I suddenly felt an even greater emptiness than when he was here.

Mom needs help with the kids and money, and I don't have enough strength to handle this task.

I just took a shower. I have never spent such a long time in the bathroom.
I felt different—better different. Now I won't let things go down with me like before.

I leave the bathroom, which Mike is already knocking on, and run to the room with a towel on my body.
I transform into something that screams independent, and I'm in a relationship at the same time.

I put light makeup on my face, but when I put red lipstick on my lips, I look extremely different.
I won't wipe it off.

Even so, it might be gone after a few hours. It's half past four on the clock.
I have to meet Robin and the others at the place at seven, so I have to move.

I'm trying to shake off the feeling that today won't go well.

I freeze at the bottom of the stairs.

A man is standing in the living room with his back to me. Father.

Mike is in the bathroom. Mom and Holly are out for a walk. I try my best not to panic and keep a cool head. I don't have to talk to him; I can just leave. I can run out the door and not look back. But instead, I stand there motionless and wait to see what happens.

"What are you doing here?" I will say after a while because it annoys me that he won't even look at me.

He knows I'm there. I know it. He's holding something in his hand, but I can't really see it from the stairs.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" I say in a slightly shaky voice and walk down the stairs, closer to him.

Father kept the keys to the house. I expected it to appear sometime because he still has a lot of things here. Well, I thought that at least it would be announced. My mother didn't mention that she knew about anything.

I watched him for a while longer; after a while, he turned, and I finally noticed what he was looking at.

My heart wanted to jump out of my chest, as it was beating so fast.
Father smiled disgustedly at the colorful leaflet and then at me.

Everything stopped. I only heard my heart. Dad still didn't tell me anything.

He approached me slowly, tearing the leaflet in his hand into small pieces. I didn't see myself as being so weak and just standing there.

I could argue with him; I could attack him. Well, I just stood there and watched him approach me. I felt his breath on me. I took a step back in disgust, and that's when it happened again.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me against the wall. I couldn't breathe. Without saying a word, he bent down and grabbed my hand. Strong. With hatred.

"I should have done this a long time ago. I should have beaten this shit out of you long ago."

I didn't cry. I didn't scream for help. I looked into his eyes and looked for a person in them who was supposed to protect me from people like him.

In the heat of my thoughts, I did not notice that my young brother was standing on the stairs. It didn't take long for him to react, and he had already thrown himself at his father with a porcelain vase.

My father's dazed body fell on top of me. I quickly shook it off and looked at Mike in shock. He didn't look back at me. He looked at his father.

"You touch one of my sisters or my mother one more time, and I will kill you," he said, and he kicked him in the stomach.

It took me a little longer to stand up because I hit my head, but when I was on the ground, I ran to Mike and grabbed his hand.

"Mike stop. Enough." He was throwing himself in my arms, crying.

I tried to calm him down.
"It's cool; you saved me, okay? But hurting him won't help us."

I talked myself into it.
I know I would do the same if I were in Mike's shoes. I quickly ran to call my mother. Mike was still in shock. He looked at his father, who would probably recover at any moment. Even though I wish most of all that it didn't happen,.