Dangerous black ties

Wrong kind

I spent the rest of my work day without a hitch. It was time to leave. He said to be there at 7 a.m. again.

It was now time to leave.

I was walking to the liquor store to get my dad his whiskey, as he had requested.

I looked for his brand, which he normally gets, and wasn't finding it. I didn't notice I had been crying until a man I recognized from the Mr. Greyson meeting asked me, "Meredith, are you alright?"

I quickly wipe them away and grab a random bottle; something is better than nothing.

"Yes. I'm fine," I say, quickly turning my gaze to the floor.

I was fine in a way, obviously not a complete lie. I was just terrified of my dad's reaction to them not having the kind he drinks. I was going to be the one facing his wrath. No doubt, I was absolutely terrified.

I walk quickly to the counter and purchase the alcohol. I put it in my backpack and started my walk back home.

The same guy follows me out.

"Where are you going?" He asked me

"I'm just walking home." I'm not even looking at him.

He grabbed my bruised arm, which was covered by a jacket. The grab wasn't hard, but enough to hurt my still sensitive skin.

"Pump your breaks," he says.

"I'm not going to let you walk alone in the neighborhood. It's very dangerous." He says this, looking at me.

I yanked my arm away softly.

"Really. I'm fine; besides, I need the exercise anyway." I am starting to walk again.

"Listen Meredith. I don't feel comfortable letting you walk alone. Come on, I'm driving you to your house." He is trying to reach me.

I took a couple of steps away.

"I don't even know your name. Besides, I like waking." I said, looking at him. I definitely don't want to get home in any hurry.

" Jeremy. Now come on, let me drive you home." He says again, his voice has more urgency to it.

"Fine, whatever." I am annoyed. I didn't want anyone to know where I lived. I paid the rent, sure, but my dad trashed the place. It was really the only thing I could afford.

I follow him to his car.

His car was also nice, just like Mr. Greyson's.

"Alright, my address is..." I start out by saying:

"I already know your address," he says, starting his car.

I must have gotten white in the face at my unease.

"Mr. Grayson has us familiarize ourselves with anyone he intends on hiring." He says he is trying to comfort me.

He types in my address on the map of his car.

Then, as I began driving, the low hum of the engine distracted my racing thoughts.

"Don't tell anyone about where I live," I say, looking at my hands.

"Alright? I mean, if any one of the Mr. Greysons employees wanted to know, they would just type your information in. I won't say anything that makes you more comfortable." He says he is not looking at me, keeping his gaze on the floor.

We approached my house.

"Thank you, Jermery, for the ride home. Have a wonderful rest of your day." I say with a small smile, leaning into the car.

He looks at my arm for a bit, and I catch myself yanking my sleeves down and covering my exposed, battered skin.

"Have a good day," I say quickly and take off to my door.

Not leaving room for potential discussion.

I unlock the door. I see Jermery drive off. I open the door and find my dad on the couch. Evidence of him shooting up drugs lingers on the coffee table.

"Dad, I got you some whiskey," I said, opening my bag and setting it on the counter.

"You remembered, man, you aren't as big of an idiot as I thought you were." He says he is getting up from the couch.

He was within arm's reach of me, and I gave him the other bottle.

My legs tremble in fear.

"What the fuck is this?!" He yells at me. "Are you trying to make me angry, Meredith?" He says setting the bottle down is rather harsh.

He roughly grabbed me by my throat and slammed my body harshly against the wall. Squeezing tightly. My oxygen-deprived, I try scratching and grabbing his hand to let me go. My attempts slowly get less and less effortful.

Am I going to die? I think my vision is slowly fading.

He finally lets go.

I grab my throat and cough harshly. Gasping for air. I felt a harsh couple of kicks to my stomach.

"You are lucky you got me anything; otherwise, it would be much fucking worse." He says to me before grabbing the whiskey and heading to his room, shutting the door behind him harshly.

I lay there for a minute. Tears streamed down my face.

My vision was disoriented from the harsh blue the wall caused on my head.

After a few minutes, I peel myself off the floor and walk into my room. I get undressed. I was looking at the new bruises forming on my throat from being choked.

I felt the tenderness of my head and showered the hot water, slightly easing my pain. Brown crimson runs in the water as I wash my hair tenderly.

He has been like this for years, ever since my mom died.

I quickly got dressed in comfortable clothes.

I lay on the bed until it was time for dinner. I make dinner, saving some to the side for my dad. He will want some for when he wakes up.

I decided to go ahead and make the muffins as I had extra time right now.

I repeated the same process and put them in my backpack. 11 in my bag, so there was one for myself.

I make one for him for breakfast too. Maybe it will put him in a better mood tomorrow. I silently pray.

I made my way back into my room. Closing the door behind me. I eat a bit and feel incredibly nauseous. I quietly walk back to the freezer and retrieve some ice packs. For my back and head. My back was screaming at me from yesterday's attack.

I eat my food and quickly fall asleep.