No One But Myself

PART ONE-7

               No words in the universe could possibly describe how I felt right at that moment. My mouth opens as I desperately search for words. Daniel averts his gaze from my father, and casts it upon me, tightening his grip on the gun. His eyes say something that his mouth doesn't, and I feel my father retreat from touching me any longer.

           "Get your fucking hands off of her, you sick bastard." Daniel takes a step closer, and doesn't display one sign of fear, which is more than what I can say for myself. My father takes a step away from me and locks his gaze on Daniel. Time feels like it stretches on for eternities rather than just minutes, and I feel a new wave of emotions engulf my body. As much as I know I shouldn't feel it, I feel anger. Why couldn't he have just listened and stayed away like I had wanted him to?

      "Get the hell out of my house." my father slurs, and I feel my stomach churn at the silent threat that his words hold.

      Daniel takes a step forward, making it clear that he isn't going to listen to any order that my father gives him, and shakes his head. "No."he takes another step, and I become aware of how fast and hard my heart is dancing in my chest, aware of how precariously close he is getting to my father, close to danger. "Don't ever put your hands on her like that again." his voice is unfamiliar, in the years that I have known him, I have never heard him speak in such an anomalous tone.

     My father gives a laugh that sends shivers down my spine, it almost sounds inhuman. "What're you going to do? Shoot me?" he takes a few steps forward so that he is right in front of Daniel and I feel my stomach clench. I try to speak and find words, but grasp at empty air. I feel weak, pathetic even, and undoubtedly  useless. All I can do is stand there, gape-mouthed, and attempt to not forget how to breathe.

      My father contorts his face into something that almost can be perceived as smug, and I feel uneasiness clench my stomach. Daniel never loses focus on me, or my father, and the gun remains in his grasp, gleaming with the promise of use. "Touch her again, and I think you'll find out for yourself." he finally says, his eyes flickering over to me once more.

         Moments pass, and neither one says a word, before my father finally retreats. He glances my way and shakes his head, obvious disgust visible on his face. "Keep your friends away from this fucking house, do you understand me?" and before I can argue, or even reply, he's already in the kitchen, popping open a new beer.

      I stand there for a second, staring at the floor instead of Daniel, the silence louder than anything I could have ever imagined at that very moment, or possibly any moment. I want to say thanks, as little as that statement sounds, but I'm not sure how. I lick my lips, my mouth is dry, and I feel a headache forming at the base of my skull.

      "You could have told me, Samantha." he says, his voice being broken by tears. "That's not something I ever wanted you to hide from me. Or Lena." he wipes at his face and shakes his head and I find it impossible to meet his eyes. "We knew something was going on, we knew, but not something as bad as this." he chokes. "not something like you getting hurt."

       I meet his eyes and I'm unsure of how to respond. He looks so sad, so heartbroken, and I remember thinking that this is why I never wanted them to know. My heart aches for so many reasons, and I avert my gaze from his sad eyes to the floor. I want to speak, but as always, I'm not sure what to say. It seems as if no words will help, especially not something like this, so I focus on the frayed denim of my jeans and blink past tears of my own. I never prepared myself for anyone finding out, especially Daniel, and I wonder what's going to happen next.

     "You can't keep living like this." he says, his voice so low it's almost inaudible. "you can't keep letting him fucking hurt you like that, Sam." his voice drenches with anger and I swallow past a dry lump in my throat. I know what he's saying is right, but I never gave it any thought. I always stayed because of my mother, and now I'm not sure why I haven't left.

    "I know." I croak out finally.

     He looks at me, really takes me in, and any words I had, dissipate into the air around us.

   "Pack your stuff." he says finally. "You're coming with me." he seems so certain and even goes out of his way to walk to my room and start grabbing the first articles of clothing he sees.

    I want to object, I want to tell him that he's crazy and that he needs to think about what he's saying, but i don't. I'm far too lethargic and arguing seems unnecessary so I watch him grab my clothes in a frenzy.

    "I'm not allowing you to ever be touched by that man again." he tosses a few sweaters in my book bag that had been laying around, and I watch him with tired eyes.

    "He wasn't always like that." I say softly, though I'm not sure why I'm putting forth the effort to tell him what he already knows, much less defend him.

    "That doesn't make it right." he throws my book bag over his shoulder and looks at me one last time. "you're going to have a better life. You're never going to be touched again in a way that you don't like, and definitely not in a way that will hurt you. And don't ever think you have to hide something from me again. Not something like this, not anything." and then, without waiting for my reply, he grabs my hand and we're on our way, to a place that's not my home.