Sad, Beautiful, and Tragic - A Taylor Swift FanFiction

Chapter 1

I slam the door to my bedroom, trailing my single piece of luggage behind me on it’s wheels. It’s light, because I’ve only packed three outfits, deodorant, and some other necessities. It rolls softly on the carpet. The floor was previously white, but is now a dull grey from all of my dad’s cigars over the years. I’m fourteen, now, and I can’t remember a time where he didn’t think of me as worthless or revolting. Throwing me to the floor, knocking me unconscious, and healing me before anybody could find out. Jeremy is his pride and joy, not his little girl. His son takes all fame over his own daughter! Just another reason why he’s unfit to raise any child. 

“Where do you think you’re going?!” My father asks from his lounge chair in the living room. I cross the floor toward the front door, ignoring him with all I have. I know I’ll regret it, but I won’t need to deal with it any longer after tonight. 

“I asked you a question!” he commands, raising from the chair and booming his way to me with his heavy boots. I hear, and feel, every step he takes in my direction. 

“Away.” I whisper in respond, just loud enough for him the catch it. His fingers wrap around my arms, squeezing it like a boa constrictor. I gasp from both the surprise of his touch and the pain he’s inducing me with by the second. I don’t look his way, but can still smell the bile scent of his smoky breathe. He’s been smoking. Another reason I shouldn’t be here. 

I yank my arm out, turning around to face him. He wouldn’t have usually let his grasp go. Maybe he wasn’t expectant of my behavior to change, and for me to rebel against his orders. I stare blankly into his eyes, black and full due to the nicotine. Out of the corner of my vision, I can see his stained white tank top, cloaked in food blotches and sweat discoloration. He holds the cigar in between his middle and forefinger , it’s small clouds swirling into the air.

For a few moments, we stare blankly at one another. The girl he knew yesterday would’ve broken under pressure and walked back to her bedroom in shame, but no. I am not her. There will be no surrendering tonight. 

“Go.” He hisses. I don’t understand or process what he means.

“What?” I sigh.

“Go!” He screams violently at my face, “Go! Get out, you demon spawn!” 

I don’t know why he called me ‘demon spawn’, or why tears are burning in my eyes. I back away, our eyes still locked. Soon, my shoulder blades hit the back of the door, my luggage awkwardly sitting by my side, my hand still grasping the black handle. 

My father slaps my face, my cheeks beginning to sting and my face becoming suddenly hot. Not soon after, his arm shoves me into the door hander than I already was against it. 

“Go! Get out!” He continues, shoving me out of the way and turning the doorknob. He swings the door open until it hit’s the wall with a loud racket. Backing away, his arm shoots into the air and points at the opportunity awaiting me.

“Leave!” he commands. My father’s arm drops, meeting my upper back. He shoves with all his strength, my fearful body shaking as it soon stands on our porch. My knees feel the need to falter, but I can’t show him any mercy. I stand there, my eyes slicing daringly into his, my inner self making my knees obey my command not to buckle. 

“Fine.” I breathe.

Without anymore words spoken, I pivot on my heels and begin dragging my luggage across the wooden ground. With every turn of the wheels, it thuds beneath me. I don’t bother to lift it when it clambers down the stairs. I walk down our front drive, my thoughts nearly as loud as the plastic wheels of my bags on the uneven concrete of the sidewalk.