Washed Away

Chapter 7 - Running Away

I tried desperately to sneak out to the portal over the next few days, but it was all in vain as Dad had now decided to become a night owl. This concerned him taking naps during the day and prowling around the house at night.

I don't know what had happened that made his mood change like this, but it was obviously involved me as he would often glance at me at meal times and grumble something under his breath. Every time he did this my heart skipped a beat as I thought that he knew about my little midnight trip to Ky's world, but he never spoke of it.

I was in the clear for now.

Speaking about Dad, he'd also now taken his drinking to a whole new level. He would come home with a plastic bag and inside it would be about five bottles of wine and a pack of beer cans. The house now stank of alcohol and every so often I would trip on a beer can while coming downstairs, to be be met with the lovely sight of Dad slumped in his armchair watching horse races, a betting slip clutched in his fist.

Frost seemed far to frightened to come downstairs any more because of my Dad's rages when his horse lost so I had to resolve to putting his food and water bowl in my bedroom, along with all his toys.

Today was one of those days and as I poured some steaming rice onto two plates, I heard a yell of anguish emit from the living room. I gulped and prayed silently in my head that he would storm upstairs and spend the rest of the evening cooped up in his room, wallowing in self-pity. No such thing happened unfortunately and Dad stomped into the kitchen and collapsed into a kitchen chair, his nostrils flaring.

I added tuna and some vegetables to the plates and set one of them down in front of him, sitting down opposite with my own plate. He stared at his dinner which I'd whisked up from what was available from the cupboards and pushed it away.

“You know I don't like tuna.” He growled. I raised my eyebrows and silently chewed on a mushroom. This was a complete and utter lie as I'd seen him the other day eat tune straight from the tin, before cutting his finger on the jagged edge. I let my gaze wander to the plaster which circled the fore finger on his right hand and swallowed.

“Well, just leave it and eat the rest of your meal.” I suggested, stabbing a chunk of my own tuna and shoving it into my mouth. Dad snorted.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Leave it then and save it for later on.”

“You sound so much like your Mother.”

This statement froze me in my tracks, my fork half way to my mouth. Dad never spoke of my Mum, unless it was to torment me about her death.

“Such an organised woman, it's a shame that someone had to go and cause her death.” He said again, his eyes on me. “Don't you think Elaina?”

I refused to meet his eyesight and placed my fork back down.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

My eyes widened when I registered what I'd just spoken and I gasped in shock. Dad seemed taken back but quickly recovered and stood up, his chair legs squealing against the floor.

“What did you just say to me, young lady?” He rumbled. I kept my gaze firmly on my half empty plate. Footsteps hurried to where I sat and my chin was forcefully pulled upwards so that my eyes met his hazel ones which were blazing in fury.

The emotions I'd kept stored up all these years was let lose and I slapped his hand away before jumping up out of my seat. Anger boiled up inside of me as I faced my Dad

“I said no.” I said firmly, my hands clenched into fists by my sides.

“How dare you speak to me like this!”