A Blind Marriage

Before ~ Sierra

Being the only child of an alcoholic maniac that hates you, isn't the best life - obviously. My days consist of taking care of my father who likes to tell me over and over again how much of a disappointment I am, how much he wishes I had died instead of my mother, and how much he would love to kill me, but it's not worth the prison time.
I think it's obvious that my life isn't exactly ideal. It's messy, unique and hard, but it's mine.

I wake up to the revolting smell of alcohol that I have come to expect every morning. My father and I live in a one bedroom apartment, in which he occupies the bedroom and I have to sleep on the floor, because the sofa is his, even though he has a bed to sleep in. It's honestly tempting to climb on the sofa and sleep on there some nights, and get up before he wakes up in the mornings - but he'd know. The slightest dent in the sofa and shit would hit the fan. So I don't see the point in even trying.

Any day where I find myself being hit less than seven times a day, is a good day for me.
I am not allowed to leave the house, other than to do the shopping and to work, I am not allowed any friends, I can't speak to people and I am only allowed to speak when father asks me something.

Before mother was gone, he was still mean and abusive, but my mother shielded me from him. Mother and father were married through an arranged marriage, so they both never really liked each other, and definitely never loved each other.

~

I wake up on the floor, as usual, my back hurting from the wooden floorboards that stick up out of the ground. "Ugh." I groan, standing up and yawning, heading into the kitchen to begin making breakfast before father wakes up, or he'll be mad.

I start to prepare two rations of bacon and two fluffy pancakes. I am a very good cook, if I do say so myself.

"Sierra!" Fathers voice calls, his thick Italian accent coming through. "Vieni qui adesso!" (Translation: Come here now!) He shouts. Father only speaks Italian, he never bothered to learn English because he says that he 'Mi ha fatto tradurre'. (Has me to translate)

I mean, he does kinda have a point, a twisted and selfish point, but he does have one.

I plate up all the food and put it on a tray, with a cup of beer on the side. "Sto arrivando papà!" (I'm coming father)

I rush to fathers bedroom door and open it, stepping in.

"Mi aspetto che tu sia più veloce con questo ormai." (I expected you to be quicker with this by now) father's voice is sharp and serious, he sounds like he's not angry, but not calm, it's a weird state of in between.

Without another word, I placed the tray in front of him. Quickly head off to leave the room, after - I know my place.

"Aspetta, devo parlarti, Sierra." (Wait, I need to speak to you, Sierra.) He shouts just as I make it through the door.

Hesitantly I turn back around and re enter his room. I stand there, and nod, knowing the if I speak I'll be punished because I haven't been asked a question.

"Devi essere sposato." (You are to be married) He laughs, happy, no doubt, that this is going to make my life even more miserable. "Domani partirai per la casa di tuo marito." (Tomorrow you'll be leaving for your husbands house)

I feel the need to clutch and scratch at my throat, trying to ply it open and let air fill my dry and desperate lungs. I know that there is no reasoning in arguing back, if anything it will make it even worse.
I rush out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen.

I begin with my daily chores. Wiping the surfaces, washing up, vacuuming, scrubbing the floors, mopping, dusting, sweeping, recycling, cleaning the bathroom, cleaning the living room, cleaning the hallway, and taking out the bins.