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AFTER UNLOCKING the front door, I yelled to Marie "I'm home!" signaling that I had arrived. I was surprised when I didn't hear a response, or by the lack of the smell of food she left around the house after preparing dinner. "I released Marie earlier. We need to talk, remember? I was scared by my father's sullen voice. He was sitting in a leather armchair in the living room, reading his book. The house, decorated entirely in white, had a gloomy air, and all the curtains were drawn and the lights were off. My father was lit by a very old lamp, with only one defective bulb. "Good afternoon, daddy. You arrived early." "Don't shy away from the topic, darling." He whispered skittishly. He had gotten up from the chair, and was approaching in a somewhat frightening but at the same time apprehensive way. "What happened in your class yesterday?" He asked in a low tone. I swallowed nervously. I could feel my legs weakening and I had to hold on to the wall next to me, or I would fall to my knees on the floor. I opened my mouth, but no voice came out of my throat. "I asked: what happened yesterday in your class." My father stated, almost shouting. It caught me off guard, startling me and making me take a step back. He was scary. "Do you think the dean didn't call me right after you ran away from school and came home? Do you think that after offering Marie a good amount of money worth four times her salary she wouldn't open her mouth?" I was totally discredited, I was screwed! "On the first day of school, Genevieve! You let me down when the only fucking thing I asked you to do was behave!" Now he was looking at me, and our bodies were a tiny distance apart. I was completely stunned, scared. I looked into my father's eyes and saw hatred, anger. That's how he acted when something took him out of his monotonous routine. He was an organized man. But whenever he drank too much or was stressed, I had to prepare myself for aggressive reactions from him. Now, his strong hands grabbed my arms, forcing them. The pain was very intense, as if his fingers were going through my skin, and I could imagine the mark that would remain for the rest of the week. "What do you have to say about that, huh?" He didn't even let me finish "You grow old like your mother did, you think you're strong enough to stood up, until you're repressed and goes back to being the usual silly, opinionless woman." He buzzed, and it hurt me more than his strong fingers pressed against my skin. He spoke about mom as if she was nothing, as if she didn't matter in his life. We always tried to avoid her, as it triggered him, but it had never been brought up in our discussions, not like that. "Go to your room!" He quickly released me, and I had to hold on to the wall again, or I would fall to the floor. I tried to suppress the huge sobs that would come out of my mouth at any moment, as I couldn't hold back the tears. I couldn't show my weak side to him. "Now!" He yelled again, and I did what he demanded. I was quickly ascending the vast staircase, whilst I could hear him throw his empty whiskey bottle in the ground and growl of anger. As soon as I entered my room, I locked myself, and let the solidarity consume me in the environment, while the local silence was filled by my sobs.
I DIDN'T NOTICED that I had slept for so long, but when my alarm went off in the morning, startling me, I realized that I had fallen asleep without showering or eating dinner, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I quickly got up, doing my best to make myself presentable. I took a quick shower, tried to fix my hair as best I could and put on a new change of clothes. When I went downstairs, I noticed that my father had already left, and that I was absurdly late. I wanted to scream really loud in rage. Everything was going wrong, absolutely everything! And it was just the beginning. My only solution was to cycle to school, using the bicycle I got for my eleventh birthday. It was too small for me, but it was better than walking, and it helped me cut the path.
