Shattered

It's Not My Fault

"Hey Christina!" Stella chirped. I rubbed my eyes. "I didn't get barely a wink of sleep last night," I groaned. "Why?" Stella asked, concerned. "Oh uh...just school has been on my mind a lot," I lied. I couldn't tell her I was up all night hyperventilating because my drunk father tried to kill me with a glass bottle. I shot her a weak smile and disappeared into my next class. I sat down at my seat, surrounded by chatting students, boasting about a new phone they received or something along the lines of that. I blocked them out. It was hard to see everyone around me laughing and giggling with their rosy cheeks and glowing smiles, when I was so broken. Seeing my friends are really the only thing that's keeping me going to school at this point. I haven't been trying hard in school at all and I'm pretty sure my grades are going to collapse. I sulked at my desk with my head hanging miserably below my shoulders as I traced the light cracks in the wood with my pencil. I was so deep in my own dreadful thoughts I didn't hear the bell ring to start class.
"Christina!" The teacher snapped, trying to get my attention.
I whipped my head up and looked into her wrinkled face. She was an older teacher, perhaps in her late 40s or early 50s. Her thin brown hair fell delicately onto her broad chest. She was wearing gray dress pants and a light purple long-sleeve shirt with a silver necklace that hung gracefully above. I pulled my gaze away from her outfit and met her eyes; she glared at me scornfully. "Class has started, it's time to pay attention," she scolded. I nodded without hesitation and straightened my posture and stared at her as she gave instruction. As time went on, I sunk back into my seat. I didn't want to be in school but I didn't want to go home. My father scares me....especially when he's drunk. After school I convinced Stella to let me walk home with her. I couldn't handle being with my dad right now.

I sat in Stella's room watching movies and snacking on chips and popcorn. I loved being with my friends because then I could forget about reality. But every time I tried to laugh along with her and push the bad thoughts behind me, the same one came back to scar me: it's your fault. I screamed and chucked my popcorn to the floor. Stella's happy expression faded. I burst into tears on her bedroom floor, surrounded by popcorn. "Christina! Christina! What's wrong? What's happened?" Stella shouted, trying to comfort me by rubbing my back. I tried to keep my mouth shut as the tears came rolling down my face, but I couldn't. "My mothers dead, and it's all my fault!" I wailed. I buried my face into Stella's carpet as tears poured from my bloodshot eyes. Stella pulled me from the ground and shook me. "Christina! Snap out of it! Nothing's your fault!!" Stella cooed, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I sniffed and rubbed my nose. As I began to calm down, Stella stroked my head and held me close. "My dad said it was all my fault," I choked, still gasping for air after the hyperventilation. Stella's expression went cold. "What? Why the hell would he tell you that?!" Stella furiously cursed. "Chris, I can tell you're hurting. You're not telling me everything, what's been happening?"
I swallowed hard. What would happen if I told? Should I? What if my dad found out? Snitches get stiches. As the devil and the angel on my shoulders argued, Stella stared at me sympathetically; she wanted to help so bad. "Ummm..." I murmured. I wish I could've disappeared. "My dad..." I felt the tears coming back. "My dad told me it was my fault. Then yesterday he said it again. I thought he just said it cuz he was drunk, but he kept saying it! And then he threw a bottle at me! It went right passed my head and shattered against the wall. It could've hit me, Stella!" I sobbed, not being able to control the tears any longer. Stella stared at me, almost as if she didn't hear me. "We have to tell someone Christina. That's abuse!" Stella said. My chest ached. "No! We can't! He's my dad! I just need to get him away from the alcohol and he'll be fine!" I cried. "No Christina! He threw a bottle at you! A glass bottle!" Stella shouted, standing up. "I'm gonna tell my mom, she should be home from work soon." Stella said, walking to the door. I jumped up and ran to her side, pulling her back into the bedroom by the arm. "No!" I shouted. "Christina!" She yelled, ripping my grasp from her arm. I snatched my bag and ran past her, heading straight for the door. "Christina!!" Stella screamed, running after me. I ran out the door and began running like a maniac. I ran and ran as fast as I could until I couldn't hear Stella calling after me. I stopped to catch my breath; she was long gone. I wiped the sweat from my brow, and continued the long walk home. I didn't want anyone to be a part of my burden. He's my dad and I can take care of this! I don't need anyone's help. I shouldn't have told Stella anything!

After an hour of walking, I finally arrived home. I walked through the door and my dad was there, sitting in a chair. Almost like he was waiting for me. "Where have you been?!" He scolded. He didn't have a drink in his hand, his breath didn't wreak of alcohol, and he was actually relatively clean. But something about him still seemed unsettling. "Oh, I was just hanging with Stella, we were working on a project." I lied. "A project?" Dad questioned, raising an eyebrow. "It's the second day of school Christina! Don't you dare lie to me!" He raised his voice. "Now why the hell didn't you come home?!"
"I was at Stella's house I swear! We weren't doing a project though...I'm sorry. We were just hanging out and watching movies," I confessed, staring at my feet. My father rose to his feet, standing tall above me. I gulped, feeling my heart push up into my throat. "I don't like my daughter being a liar, Christina," he whispered angrily-teeth clenched. I looked at my father, my strong, handsome, caring, father...and I no longer saw who I have always loved and trusted. I saw something scary, distorted, blurred, and terrifying. My father towered above me, fists clenched. I wanted to scream and run, I know he'd never hurt me...no...I thought he'd never hurt me. My father pushed me down, his hand raised slowly above me. His muscular arms whipped forward, raining down on me, hot sharp needles of pain slithered through my skin as he struck me over and over. After the third strike, he backed off. He looked down on me; his small daughter whom he loves (or I guess loved), whimpering beneath his feet. I shot him a miserable look of defeat. Hopeless and helpless tears rained from my tear ducts. I stayed where I was, shaking, trying not to move. He began slowly walking away, feeling proud of himself for "teaching his daughter a lesson" I assume. "You will not lie to me again," he said firmly, before disappearing into his bedroom.
As I sat crumpled in a ball on the cold floor-defenseless-I knew he made it clear.....it was my fault.