WARNING: this story involves a heavy persona of abuse, weapons, injuries, and heartbreak.
Blake Dawson is your average Pogue. she chases her boys with the same amount of adrenaline and lack of fear. Pogue princess suffers from her abusive father ju...
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Part one:
The sound of the waves crashing against the rock beds behind the chateau mixed with a slight breeze and salty smell of the ocean eased my mind. Officially starting tomorrow began the long waited summer I had been anticipating. The sun had set and the bright stars emerged above the three of us, John B laughing with his father while JJ and I watched the ripples in the water. I had a feeling deep down that this summer was going to be one of the best times ever. I look over towards the father and his son as they began rough-housing causing JJ to emerge from his seat tackling the boys, laughing along with them I decided to join in on the fun.
"Blake, help me." JJ whines, landing on the ground. "Dog-pile!" John B screams. I jump on top of JJ, John B following the motion and soon after Big John completes the pile. We all groan in laughter, something we did often at the chateau when we were all together. My stomach ached from all the laughter and shortly we all tapped out catching our breaths. "Blake arabella Dawson! Inside now." My body froze hearing my fathers stern tone. "Shit, sorry guys I'll see you tomorrow." I apologize.
John B reaches for in gripping my shoulders, "you don't have to go, dad will help." he half smiles. "If you don't feel safe you know I'm right next door." Big John whispers. I nod, "Thanks, I'll take care of this. He's probably drunk again." I turn towards JJ giving him a knowing look. He gazes towards my hand grabbing a hold of them before kissing my forehead. "Blake! So help me god." my father voices. I smile and part ways walking to the back porch of my house, hesitating on walking through the door of my home.
I made my way inside, empty cans cluttered the living room floor and the stench of marijuana filled my nose. A cross-faded father with anger issues, the father I loved to be around. "Great." I muttered. Rounding the corner my father is leaning against the door frame to my bedroom. His eyes were bloodshot, anger filled the void and the tension grew as I stood there nervous for what came next. A sigh slipped his lips, "You're a disgrace you know that. God just look at you," My fathers words slurred. He was an asshole whether he was drunk, high, or stone cold sober-which was rare. Since I was a child he has always been rough on me. When my mom left Kildare island, something changed in my father.
He grew cold, harsh, sometimes he was unrecognizable. Anything I had done was wrong, if the dishes weren't done I would get a smack on the arm. For the first few months I understood the stress of losing his wife, losing my mother, but the longer time went on he became angry with everyone, even with the world. "You have no idea the sacrifices I have made so you are breathing. And you take it all for granted, ALL OF IT!" standing straight up he approached me slowly. "Do you know what I found in the trash can in your room you little shit?" a fist collided, a resounding thud echoed through the air. The force of the blow sent shock-waves through my body jolting me backwards. "Dad, stop, I'm sorry. Please stop." I whimpered, pain flowing through my body.
"You're a slut you know that." pain radiated my body from impact causing a momentary daze. I fought back, fierce exchange of blows, each strike fueled by frustration and adrenaline. My father grew angrier at my rebellion. The sound of crashing objects filled the air like a chaotic symphony. "It was that Maybank boy huh? Or the Routledge kid, you know how to whore around. You're just like your mother." Shattered glass tinkled to the ground, adding a dangerous edge to the already tense atmosphere. The impact of our bodies colliding with furniture sent it toppling over, the sharp crack of wood splintering echoing through the room. The crash of glass meeting glass reverberated, in an attempt to push my father away.
Each crash and clatter serves me a reminder of the escalating stakes and the chaos unfolding around us. "Stop, dad, you're hurting me!" I threw a punch, clashing with his jawline sending him stumbling back enough for me to make a run for it. I began running towards the back door. With a forceful shove, my body was sent hurtling down the steps, my bones twisting and flailing in mid-air. The impact of hitting each step sent out bone-chilling thuds. The world seemed to slow down as I tumbled, gravity pulling me mercilessly downward. Pain and disorientation engulfed my soul, leaving me breathless. When I reached the bottom landing on the dirt of my backyard I laid there allowing myself to breathe.
"You son of a bitch, I hope you die of fucking ass cancer you hear me? You dead beat whore of a father." I scream knowing things could not get any worse. My father emerged from the house, a shiny metal piece in his hands. My eyes widened at the sight, quickly jumping up from the ground. gunshots pierced the air, their echoes bouncing off the surrounding trees. Each shot was like a thunderclap, jolting the senses of the Routledge boy next door. "Blake?" John B questioned peeking his head out the window. His eyes grew in size as his best friend was bolting away and clouds of smoke peeked near her.
"Holy shit, Dad! Call the sheriff, he's done hurting her for good." He screams. The sharp cracks reverberated through the night, a chilling reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows. Fear and adrenaline surged through everyone present, heightening the urgency and raising the stakes of the unfolding situation.
