Devouring Her Soul

Part 7

I got up and walked to class.

It was silent, but the tension was loud.
I felt their thoughts, and they were all on me.

I dreaded those last few minutes of class, but it was heaven compared to home.

School ended, and Andrew and his friends wanted to go out and get something, but I decided I'd just go home.

The last thing I want is for Father to be mad at me. Plus, the look Andrew kept giving me let me know he was still pissed about earlier.

So I excused myself and told them I'd walk home alone and they could go do whatever they were doing.

I got to my house, and it was quiet.
Quiet enough to send shivers down my spine.

I made my way to the living room, and my father was just sitting in his leather chair.

No television. No yelling. No complaints. Nothing. He was just quiet.

I didn't know if I should approach him or not.

After a few minutes of contemplating, I stepped towards the staircase, and he finally spoke.

"Vivian."

I quickly turned and responded to him.

Sometimes, time was not my friend. And if I took too long, she'd leave me with a rabid beast.

"Yes?"

He stayed silent for a moment before muttering a single word.

"----."

I stared at the back of his head, trying to figure out what he said.

"W-what?"

He stood up from his chair, his jaw clenched, and his muscles flexed.

For the first time in a while, I saw the tattoo he'd gotten a while back.

He got that tattoo when he met Mother. Although I never got to know what it meant.

"Beer, Vivian."

His tone was ice cold, and I made sure to listen and not slip up again.

"Don't let me tell you again."

Father was already angry. Not at me this time.

It was something else, but that made it worse for me.

When he's angry at me, it hurts when he teaches me a lesson.

But when he's angry at something.. or anyone else, he takes it out on me.

There's a difference. It's a small one. But the pain? It's not a small difference. It's like the brink of hell versus the bottom of it.

I put my bag down on the ground, not even bothering to put it in my room. Or even in the kitchen, and walk straight outside to the convenience store.

I'm too young to buy alcohol, but looks are everything when you're in front of a fool.

If you look it, and you're pretty, he won't ask your age.

I seem to have found myself a regular at his shop. The owner of the convenience store.

He's a creep, but he doesn't beat me like my father. I'd rather be perved on than beaten if I show up at home empty-handed.

I walk into the convenience store, and that all too recognizable bell rings above my head as the door opens and closes.

The shop owner smiles and looks at me.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite customer. Welcome back in darlin'."