In the Band

Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Allison’s P.O.V.

I waved bye to Carson as I pulled out of her driveway and headed down the path back to my house. Snowflakes were falling from the cloudy night sky. When I pushed in the button to turn on the radio, “Bad Day” by Daniel Powter was playing. I couldn’t help but to turn it up and sing along.

I pulled into the gravel driveway in front of my house. All the windows were dark except one that was illuminated by the dim, changing lights of a TV. After slidding out of the car, I inhaled sharply as the cold air settled on my bare skin. Dresses suck ass.

I hastily walked across my yard and went up the stairs onto my porch, pausing and taking a deep breath before opening my front door and entering my pleasantly heated kitchen. Closing the door as quickly and quietly as I could, I carefully headed over to the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible.

My foot settled on the first step, and then I brought the other one to the second, so far so good. When I put my weight on the third step, it creaked. I quietly groaned.

“Ally?”

“Yeah Dad, it’s me.” I walked back down the steps and into my small living room. The one couch was brown, stained, and held my father.

“Where did you come back from?” His eyes were bloodshot and fixed on the TV.  He had a beer bottle, identical to the several empty ones on the coffee table, in his hands.

“I went out,” my words were hard, “Where’s Kelsey?”

“She left too,” he said. That’s a relief. It always makes me nervous when my twelve-year old sister is alone here.

“I’m going to bed,” I stated, turning back to the stairs.

“Wait,” he looked over at me, scowling. “Why are you always out being someone’s whore?” His speech was slightly slurred.

I narrowed my eyes, “I’m not a whore.”

He was standing now. “You sure do act like it,” he looked me up and down, “and dress like it. And what’s that?” He snatched my jacket from where it was slung over my arms and held it up so he could see it. “Is that a wine stain?”

I sent all the hatred I could into my expression and looked him straight in the eye.

“Is it?” His voice was getting louder now.

“I didn’t drink any if that’s what you’re asking,” I said through my teeth.

“Oh, well it’s nice to know that you don’t need to be drunk to do your prostituting.” He said with venom in his voice.

“Hey, at least if I’m a whore I’d have a fucking job unlike you!” I snapped. I turned and started walking away but he roughly grabbed my arm. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed.

“Don’t talk to me like that!" He growled. "You’re such a little bitch!” His grip on my arm got tighter. I tried to twist out of his grasp.

“You’re the one who raised me, Dad!” I yelled in his face. He let go of my arm and slapped me; it made an audible sound. I stepped back and put my hand up to the stinging pain on my cheek; my eyes wide.

As fast as I could, I crossed the room to the kitchen and wrentched the door open as fast as I could with my father on my heels

“Don’t run away from me!” he yelled.

Speeding up my pace, I ran to the car; the faster I could get away from him, the better. With tears rolling down my face, I pulled out of my driveway as quick as I could and drove down the road onto the freeway.