Chosen

Chapter One

Hi! This is my first story, so it probably has some mistakes. I'll fix it later. Enjoy! :) the cover was done by @mrsmalik892
Katherine McNamara as Arabella
     "Arabella! You good for nothing, son of a-" My father yells before falling over. He's drunk. Very drunk. I close my eyes and sigh. This isn't going to be good. I take a deep breath, slowly letting it out, preparing myself for what is coming.
     My bedroom door slams open, revealing my drunkenly furious father. He's swaying on his feet, red-faced, and holding his fifth almost empty beer bottle.
     "I should throw you out! Make you live on the streets!" He stumbles closer and yanks on my arm, pulling me up. I flinch as his grip becomes painfully tight. I won't make a sound though, that would only make him angrier. 
     He's in my face, yelling something unintelligible. This happens a lot, and as sad as it is, I'm used to it.
     He started drinking after my mother died. He blames me for her death. But she died of cancer. Nobody could do anything to stop it.

It's even worse since I'm the only one living with him. Both my older siblings got married and moved away. They aren't very far though. Monica, who is 25, married a boy named Joshua and is a doctor. Jake, who is 28, married a girl named Cindy, and is an artist. I don't see them very often.

"-you're the reason your mother is dead! You should be the one dead! Not her!" I should be used to it by now, but it stills hurts when he says that. He always says that, but he should be angry with himself. I was the only one that would visit her in the hospital, he was too caught up in his sorrow, even my siblings would visit her every once in a while, and they live 20 minutes away. But he never went to see her, not once. I'd spend every second I could with her, and he despises me because of that.

My face snaps to the side as his hand smacks across my cheek, hard. I can't hold in the gasp that escapes me. I hold back the wince that wants to show itself, I can't show my pain, every time I do, he finds some way to make it worse. I clench my jaw as my cheek begins to sting. He doesn't even acknowledge what he just did. He just mumbles something I can't understand and stumbles out. I can hear his door slam, it was over. For now.

I put my hand to my face and flinch when I do. He must have cut me with his ring. I shake my head, looking around, I don't know why I stay here. Every time he does this, I put the thought that it's the last one into my head. Maybe this time he'll realize what he's doing wrong. Maybe this time he'll hit me.

The first time he hit me, he had immediately sobered up, apologizing profusely. He had made me my favorite meal and promised that he'd never do that again. That same night, he had gotten drunk and hit me again, then went through the same process all over again. He stopped apologizing that night and has continuously gotten worse. I don't know why that hope still lives in me, I need to get away from here.

He's most likely passed out in his room by now, sleeping his drunkenness away, then start all this over again in the morning. Every day is the same, he wakes up hungover, forces me to make him breakfast and clean the house, spends his day drinking, then furiously yells at me before he passes out. I can't take it anymore, I can't take anymore of the abuse.

I slowly put on my shoes and a jacket and creep to my door, flinching when it creaks. I hold still, waiting for him to come storming out of his room, but he never does. I walk down the hall as quietly as I can, flinching every time the floorboards make even the slightest sound. I sigh in relief when I make it out the front door.

I don't know why I'm doing this now, I should've left when it was light and I wasn't breaking curfew. The King and Queen started a curfew when the Rebel attacks started getting too frequent, there'd be at least one attack every week, all in different states. The curfew starts at eight o'clock sharp, and right now, it's almost midnight. If I'm caught, I don't know what would happen, but I know it wouldn't be good. It will take about an hour to get to Monica's, so I'll just have to pray that I don't get caught.