Drugs & Dior

Chapter 9

Angela

"You think you can just leave and come back whenever you want, girl?" My dad asks me. I'm standing at the kitchen counter eating a stale granola bar for breakfast. I didn't get any sleep last night, too busy crying. Cooper doesn't know how much it hurts me to know what he does to himself.

He doesn't know how much it hurts me to know I didn't know, to know I couldn't stop it. For years. And it's all my fault, I'm the one that made him watch Emmy when I went out, I'm the one who told him not to be stupid whenever he got in trouble. It's all my fault.

I hate myself.

"Answer me when I talk to you!" My dad throws something so close to my face I feel the wind blow my hair off my shoulders. The thing shatters on the wall. Adrenaline fills my body but I don't fight or fly, I freeze. Robotically, I look at him. No sadness, no fear, no hatred, nothing. I feel empty.

"No," I say in a hushed tone. "I didn't expect to be coming back. I'll make it up to you."

"You better!" He makes his way tho the fridge, the ground shaking beneath him. The light to the fridge doesn't turn on when the door opens. He doesn't seem to mind as he bends down and grabs a beer.

It's six in the morning.

"Dad," I say. "What are you—"

"You think you can tell me what to do!?" He asks, stomping over to me. He doesn't get close enough for our noses to be touching, no, that's my moms thing. He stands a good enough distance away from me and stares into my soul.

My moms thing might be getting up close and personal, maybe the occasional hitting or scratching, but my dad... my dads thing is violence. He thinks he can solve all his problems with his fists.

He thinks he can fix me by breaking me.

He can go from one to one hundred in a snap of a finger, the speed of light.

"Well!?" He asks, getting closer. I stand there, regretting even opening my mouth out of turn, and say nothing.

My dad doesn't like to wait, he's not a patient man. So when I don't respond as fast as he wants, he slaps me.

The sting stays on my cheek even after his hand moves, from the amount of times he has done this to me, I should be immune to it. I'm not. I feel the red mark forming on the side of my face as I turn to face him again.

The man in front of me takes a sip of his beer. I don't feel angry or sad, just the sting in my cheek. I hope Cooper isn't awake to hear what I know is going to happen next. My dad is in a violent mood, and I just so happen to be the reason.

I stand in front of him, bracing for another hit, for too long. "The sight of you is repulsive. When's the last time you took a shower?"

I could ask the same thing to you, old man.

"I don't remember," I say.

"Go take one then, d*mn it! How old are you?" He asks.

"Sixteen."

"And you still can't take care of yourself. Get out of my sight. Go. Now!"

I nod, throwing the rest of my breakfast in the trash and walking to the bathroom to take my shower. He has no room to talk, I think as I open the bathroom door.