One Big Mistake

Chapter One: One Big Step

Skylar's POV:

We all know that saying, "Home is where the heart is." Home is a place where a person is suppose to feel safe, secured, and loved. A place to relax and be yourself with no one around to look or judge you.

Neither of that is true, well not for my case. I never had any of those feelings about my home. My home was a place of fear, sorrow, and unwelcoming. I never felt safe because I was always wondering. On alert if today's the day that my dad would come home drunk after a longs day of work, slouch on the couch with another beer in his hand and complain. Complain how his boss is an ass, complain about the bills and how ridiculous it is, complain about the house not meeting his standards of "clean" when it never is but I make the most of it, but the number one thought that always comes to my mind as I see him walk through the door is if he's going to beat the living hell out of me or not.

Some days are bad or worst than others, and some days are what I call "normal". Normal being here he comes home to sit on the couch with his beer, watch tv and complain about nonsense and making me do whatever it is for him when he can get up and do himself. I don't complain or question, I just do and try not to get hit which is common for me. I've gotten beaten where I wasn't leave the house for a few days or a week. I would be left wherever in the house from a blow of a beating that I'm not able to move or too weak to move myself to a corner to rest. Rest to recover from what just happened or rest for the time being and hope that I don't wake and the horror can be over.

As I'm in that rest of recovery my mind start to play that "What if?" or "Maybe" game. 'Maybe I should have gotten home at a later time.' What if I took a later shift, then maybe I would have missed him coming home last night.' Life's a world of maybe's and what if's.

~~~Flashback~~~

"Didn't I tell you to clean this damn house?!" My father coming home at 3am drunk as usual coming up the stairs stamping into my bedroom. "I come home every night putting a roof over your head, letting sleep in my own house, and this is how you repay me!" He comes over to my bed and rips the blanket off of me. Lean in on me grabbing me by my left arm, dragging me out of bed for me to stand up and face him.

I can smell the liquor stench out of his mouth and clothing. "I cleaned the house as soon as I came home from work at five. There's nothing left for me to clean."

"What about the laundry? Did you do that?" He breath hitting the side of my face.

"No...I..I was going to save that for tomorrow so I can wash the clothes that you are wearing right now." I can feel my throat tensing up a bit.

"NO?!" I can see a flare come from within his eyes as he lifts up his hand and slaps me across the face. "YOU ARE GOING TO DO THEM NOW!" He lets go of my arm throwing me off to the side as he strips out of the clothes he's wearing now and throws them at me. "Here. Now go wash the damn laundry. I need clothes for work in the morning." Walking out of my room as he slams the door behind him making me jump.

I reach down to the floor picking up the clothes and whatever clothes that might be laying around, dirty, and head towards the laundry to start a load.

I close the cabinet door after putting the laundry soap away and faces with my reflection throw a broken mirror, courtesy of my father. I lean forward and look at my cheek as red makes start to form. I rise my right hand up and glide three fingers across the marking, hissing as it starts to sting. My lips whimper as I have the urge to cry

"No. Don't you dare cry." My subconscious informs me as she looks back at me through the mirror.

I take a deep breath and slowly let it escape to relieve the urgency to cry. I do so a couple of times and move forwarded to getting these clothes washed.