Big Girls Don't Cry

I sighed and plonked myself on the edge of the bed, I cupped my hands around my face, a few stray tears escaped from my eye. I quickly brushed away the tears, it was frowned upon to show emotion. I gritted my teeth as I looked at the clock, 5 pm, Dad would be home soon. I looked at my arms, the bruises were only just beginning to fade away, however, the pain remained as strong as ever, the slightest touch would make me flinch from pain.

I thought to myself, "why did she let this happen?", she meaning my mum, who had walked out on us all those years ago, leaving an alcoholic monster in charge of me.

I jumped as I heard the front door swing open and the sound of heavy breathing and footsteps flooded the flat. My throat went dry and a  large lump grew, I tried to swallow it but failed. I tried to calm myself down, not daring to make any sudden loud noises for fear that he would storm in. I could hear him stumbling around the flat loudly, I closed my eyes as his footsteps grew closer to my room.

He swung my bedroom door open and I jumped, I started to shake uncontrollably.

"Did you do the dishes?" he slurred. I looked down at the floor, I didn't want to look at the drunken man my Dad had become. "LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" he grabbed my head and made my eyes meet his glare. I tried to swallow. I shook my head. "WHY NOT?!"

"I..I'm sorry Dad," I started, then everything went blurry as his hand met my cheek, he then grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the kitchen he pushed me to the sink and grabbed my neck.

"LOOK AT WHAT I HAVE TO DO NOW!" I gulped and refused to look, he forced me to. "I COME HOME AFTER A HARD DAY AND THEN I HAVE TO DO HOUSEWORK?! I DON'T THINK SO!" he shouted.

"But..but I was busy..please Dad.. don't do this," I pleaded, it was a waste of time, I knew my pleas were never heard.

"DO YOU THINK I'M TOO HARD ON YOU OR SOMETHING?!" he asked.

"No?" I lied, shaking even more now. I'd lied, I'd get punished for that.

"LYING BITCH!"he shouted, his face had started to turn red at this point. "YOU KNOW WHAT I DO TO LIARS!"

"Dad! Please! No!" I cried. "Please! I'm your daughter!"

"YOU'RE NO DAUGHTER OF MINE!" he snapped.

"Dad! Don't say things like that! You don't mean it! It's the alcohol talking.. please Dad.. PLEASE NO!" I pleaded.

"SO NO YOU'RE CALLING ME AN ALCOHOLIC?"

"I didn't mean it in that way"

"SO HOW DID YOU MEAN IT!?"

"I.. I don't know.."

"OH SO YOU'RE THICK AS WELL AS A LIAR AND LAZY?!"

"No Dad!" I saw his fist clench up, the veins in his arm pulsing.. I knew what was going to happen next, I knew this part very well.

Since Mum had walked out, Dad's way of dealing with it was a lot different to my method. I would go somewhere quiet, think and maybe cry a little, whereas Dad had turned to alcohol. The alcohol made him unaware of his actions, it numbed his pain and inflicted more pain on me, which made him feel better about himself. After a few years of being punched, slapped, kicked, verbally abused and in the worst cases, kicked out of the house, I learned not to cry, because crying was a sign of weakness in the eyes of my drunk father.

He raised his arm and I flinched and shut my eyes.

"It'll be over in a split second," I thought to myself I felt his fist hit me, first in the face then in the chest and stomach. I curled up in a ball on the floor, he had winded me this time. I rested my head on my knee another tear fell, I wiped it away. "Must not cry,"