Empty

Chapter 3

"Melody stop!" Harmony demands, prying the bat from my bloody hands and looking at me in disbelief. "I know you hate him, but I never thought you would try to kill him."

"Mom would have wanted me to." I say, trying to catch my breath "We have to get out of here. Start packing your stuff and get some food." I take a look at Father and add, "We can leave him here to rot."

Harmony doesn't argue, instead she goes to her room. Before I start to pack I whisper in the devils ear "I'm not done with you yet." I pick up the lamp from the floor. "I guess we will be using this after all." I say, pushing the tip of the lamp into his stomach.

"Ahhh! Please stop! I'll change! I'll..." He doesn't get to finish as I shove the tip in deeper, followed by blood . He winces and tries to push the lamp away, but that only makes things worse for him.

"This is similar to the way you killed Mom, your unborn child and I." Now the tip is touching something hard; I think it's his bone.

"I didn't kill you," Father says "but I should've," He nearly spits out.

"You dick!" I slap him across the face "No. You didn't kill me. But you killed my innocence," I go deeper "An unborn child," I twist it in more "My mother," He squirms "My childhood!" I pull the tip out fast "You took something from me that I can no longer take back," I spit in his face.

"Please stop," he begs.

"Alright. Have it your way," I say dragging him toward the wall next to a picture of the once perfect family. I remember that day perfectly. It was my seventh birthday and we were celebrating at the park. Grammy took a picture of us sitting at a picnic table and I had just blown out the candles. I wanted another sister really bad so I wished for one. In the picture, I'm wearing a pink shirt with a smiley face on it that Mom bought for me earlier that day. I'm licking frosting off of my finger with my eyes wide open. Five year old Harmony is sitting next to me with her head resting on her arms, smiling wide, exposing her missing two front teeth. Mom has on a purple tank top with skinny jeans. Her hands are on my shoulders and she's laughing at something Father had said. Her golden brown hair falling carelessly over her hazel eyes. She looked ten years younger in that picture, but she was only twenty seven at the time and so was Father. I remember drinking in her scent that moment very moment, she wore her favorite perfume that day. It was called Armani Code and it smelled of ginger, honey and vanilla. Father had bought it for Mom on her birthday. My once normal father- I think he was normal then- is leaning on a tree grinning. He has on a black and blue striped long sleeved, unbuttoned shirt with a white shirt under and jeans. He has his sleeves rolled up with his arms crossed. That day he spiked his black hair up so he looked seventeen again. Everyone said I looked more like him than Mom, but I was okay with that because he looked handsome. You wouldn't expect us to change so much in eleven years. What happened to us? Why couldn't we just stay perfect forever? A tear glides down my cheek. I can't help but hold Father in my arms.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy." I say in between tears. But he doesn't answer. I look into his eyes and find a piece of life left.

"I'm so sorry for being such a horrible father," he whispers. "I hope you kids do fine without me."

"No. You're not gonna die. I'm not letting that happen," I sob. Why was I so stupid to go this far? None of this would have happened if I just controlled myself. I wouldn't be hugging my half dead father. A thought comes to mind.

He might change if I let him live.