No One But Myself

PART ONE- 1.

          I creep through the back door, my heart pounding in my ears, fingers trembling as they reach to close the door behind me, throat constricted, as I let out a breath of relief with having made it this far without him catching me.
       I make my way into the hallway, holding my breath as I reach the living room. My heart accelerates, my throat becomes drier, my body starts to tremble. Fear overcomes me; I blink once, twice, focusing my gaze on the figure before me.
My father sits in the chair, staring at the tv with drunken eyes, the ever present bottle of liquor dangling from his fingertips. I can smell the pungent smell of whiskey lingering in the air and my stomach churns at the thought of what it's done to my family and what it's done to him.
     I pray he doesn't turn and see me. I hope and pray on everything I know, clenching my fists tight as I prepare to pass him. Just as I take my first step, he turns at the slightest and meets my gaze.
     The person staring back at me is not the father I remember, he's my biggest nightmare.
      A small evil smirk tugs at the corner of his lips in which he raises the bottle to, just seeing this action disgusts me and pulls at new fear what I suspect is about to happen.
      His lips twitch at the slightest, his dark eyes narrowing at me, making me feel small under their speculation.
     "Where were you."
       He says it as if it's a statement instead of a question, and I feel myself faltering to give him an answer.
      "Where were you." He repeats, his tone of voice louder than before. "Where were you?"
He's screaming it now, stumbling to his feet. My heart races, mind blurs, feet rooted into place. All I can do is stare as he makes his way an inch from me. I try to swallow but I fail, and the angry smell of liquor slices through the air like a blade. My father's eyes stare down at me, stone cold and foreign.
      "Do I need to repeat myself?" He growls, taking a swig of the bottle he's holding, narrowing his eyes yet again. He's so close I can feel his breath on my cheek, so close I can see every detail of him perfectly.
Too close.
        I try to take a step back, and form words, anything to get me away from him, but that's when it happens.
        "Answer me, you little bitch."
         Heat radiates across my cheek, spreading like wildfire, and tears burn in my eyes, the sharp smack of his hand replaying itself over and over in my mind like a sick song.
         "You think you can skip over your curfew and I wouldn't notice?" He steps forward as if he wasn't close enough. "You think you're better than me? That the rules don't apply to you?" He grabs hold of my wrist, tightly, and jerks me, giving a cold laugh that's sickening to hear. "That's not how it works in my house."
        The words I've failed to say build up on my tongue, dying to be let out. But I stay quiet, as I always do, and hope he doesn't notice the tears falling down my face.
       "What's this?" His hands grasp the fabric of my tank top and yank on it. The thin fabric tears in his hand, in which he tosses to the ground with a snarl. "You're a whore, just like your mother." He shakes his head and takes another sip of his whiskey, laughing as if he had just uttered the funniest joke in the world. His laugh sends a shiver down my spine.

I stand there, a victim of my own fathers torture, fighting back hot tears.

       Pull yourself together, Sam. It's going to be okay. I promise. Mommy loves you.
Her words replay in my head for the millionth time, providing the smallest ounce of comfort I could ever grasp onto. That was what she always said when my father abused us. She'd look into my eyes and grab my face in her hands and let words that I knew she didn't have hope in saying roll off her tongue.
       It's going to be okay. I promise. Momma is gonna take you far far away and you'll never have to go through this pain anymore. I promise.
      I try to have faith in her words, which is what I always do when I'm stuck enduring this hatred from my father from the smallest things, but with my cheek on fire and his breath in my face, it fails like it always has and probably always will.
      "Nothing to say, bitch?" He gives me a push and laughs when I flinch. "Go to your room. I better not see your face again tonight or you're gonna wish you were never born."
The threat in his words rings loud and clear and my stomach churns at the thought. Without a second thought, I make my way past him and into my room, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.