The Broken Girl and The Golden Boy

Save Me

Chapter 17: Piper

The number one rule at my house is to always lock your bedroom door - especially when father is home. But I was so stupidly wrapped up in what had just happened with Justin that I forgot about it. And it was going to cost me dearly.

I stared out the window, trying to make out Justin's retreating form in the darkness when he came barging in. I started at the sound of someone turning the doorknob.

"YOU WHORE!" my father roared, throwing open the door to my bedroom. The hinges made an awful creaking noise and I worried that they would break. I'd be in serious trouble without my bedroom door. Hell, right now, I was in serious trouble even with the damn door.

"What are you talking about?" I responded, flinching back a bit.

"Don't play dumb with me, you little slut," he accused, "I saw the fancy-ass car in the driveway. One of your clients? I should've known - you've always been like this, whoring around when you should've been taking care of your mother like you were supposed to!" When he said that, I felt something snap inside of me.

"I WAS SEVEN! Seven years old," I screamed, getting up in his face and letting out my pent-up frustration from the past ten years, "I wasn't whoring around, I was walking two and a half miles to the drug store to get Mom's medicine! I was barely sleeping because I was trying to make sure she was comfortable and doing odd jobs around the neighborhood to pay rent and medical expenses! I was making sure my little sister didn't go hungry! I was dragging your drunk ass into the house every night after you got wasted at the pub! EVERY NIGHT! EVERY FUCKING NIGHT! SO FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD! It wasn't my fault she died!"

"You are a lying bitch!" he shouted back, "It was your fault!"

"No, I'm not lying," I spat, "It wasn't my fault! And I am tired - so fucking tired of taking the blame for it every day of my goddamn life! You're just a bitter, miserable man who can't cope with the fact that he wasn't there for his wife when she needed him most, and because of that you lash out at me because I was there for her! What happened to her was no one's fault - not mine, not hers, not the doctors'. But if you're so determined to blame someone, how about you try blaming yourself? You're the one that abandoned her and made her feel unloved in her last few months. You broke her heart, you son of a bitch, did you ever think about that while you were binge-drinking down the street?!"

"YOU'RE WRONG!" he bellowed, throwing out a fist that hit me right where he'd punched me earlier today like my face was a target and the bruise was the fucking bullseye. I gasped in pain and staggered back. Father followed after me, throwing another punch - this one connected with my temple. My vision blurred, but I still managed to keep my footing. I threw my arms out in a blind, desperate attempt to get away. I counted myself very lucky when I actually managed to shove him out of the way like I'd wanted.

Father made a strange wheezing sound and tumbled backwards. I didn't waste any time; I raced past his crumpled form and out the bedroom door.

I was halfway to the door when he caught up to me. He grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, causing a ear-splitting shriek to wrench it's way free of my lungs.

"Stop!" I cried pitifully, "Let go of me, please!"

"No," he said in a cold, harsh voice, "It's about time I punished you for what you did to your mother." As if every miserable day of my life wasn't punishment enough.

He flung me to the ground, hard, and I cried out as a sharp, searing agony ripped through my left arm. I had landed on it badly and probably broken my wrist in the process. At least I was right-handed, I thought bitterly.