Reap What You Sow / A BNHA Story

Chapter 7

It was 5:20am, and my mother had just woken up to leave for work. 

I heard the sound of the kettle spurring to life, the sizzle of the water followed by a click as she poured the boiling liquid into her cup of coffee grains. Her heels clicked against the tiled kitchen floor, her keys dangling as she secured them on a necklace around her neck. She rustles into the pantry to retrieve the whole grain bread she prepares every morning, toasted with a slight burnt edge to it, then lathered with butter and jam. 

Click click click. Her shoes an ongoing chorus in the quiet house, moving about in a frantic pattern. 

5:30am.

It would take 10 minutes for my mother to eat her food and drink her coffee. She hated to be rushed, and so ensured that she'd have plenty of time to energise and eat her meal in a way that made sure she'd be able to digest it properly. She didn't speak nor entertain herself with anything as she ate. She was always one to seek pleasure in solitude, but even more so when no one could hear her beckoning silence. 

5:40am, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and reapply her lipstick. 

5:48am, she gathers all she needs for her work, which really isn't that much, as she's been denoted to an office job ever since my dad left the force, temporarily.

5:50am, she heads into her car. The sound of the engine sparking to life, crackling still as she exits the driveway into early Monday traffic. 

It takes her 7 minutes to drive to work. Sparing three minutes to enter her office and begin her drilling paperwork until the evening. 

I tilt my head to my left, slowly as my joints are still sore and stiff from yesterday's ruckus. The digital clock on my nightstand flashes 5:55am, right on time for my father to wake up and use the bathroom. 

He's usually in there for 3 minutes doing his business and whatnot, before flushing the toilet and heading into the kitchen to have his first beer of the day. He chugs that at 5:59am, just in time to retrieve the key to unlock my door at 6:00am, where he'd then drag me awake by my hair and begin his beatings. 

My hand sneaks under my pillow, heart skipping in panic as I search for the glass I had hidden there last night, only to sigh in relief as the sharp shard comes into contact with my hand. 

5:58am, only two minutes before he makes his entrance. 

I didn't sleep last night. How could I when all I could think about were the ways I could kill my father with a piece of a broken beer bottle?

I had narrowed my thoughts to three primary tactics. 

1. As soon as he reaches for me, I swing my hand and knick him in the eye, that way he'll be rendered half-blind and will be too discombobulated to stop me from running away. This is the non-murderous option. Drawbacks are, he recovers, finds me, rats me out to the higher-ups, where they then use me as their lab toy for the rest of my life. 

2. I get up before he can get to my room, hide on my wall adjacent to the door, so when he enters I can come up from behind, jump on his back, and stab him in the neck. Drawbacks are, I miss, and he beats me to death. 

3. I take the shard of glass, bring it up to my own neck, and slit my throat. 

The door handle starts to shake, the familiar dreadful sound of the key clicking into place sending my senses on high alert. Panicked, I quickly shut my eyes, squeezing the piece of glass in my hand, flinching when it draws a trickle of blood in my palm.

He steps inside, breathing heavily. He remains at the entrance of my room for a few seconds before advancing towards me, one lousy step at a time. 

Plan, think, act, reevaluate.