Road Trip

9:58pm

Carefully and quietly, Poppy opened her front door. Weather or not her father was passed out on the couch again, she had to be quiet. The less he knew about her presence, the better. 

When she glanced around the corner, Inevitably, her father was passed out. Next to him sat a near empty bottle of scotch, the stench of the strong liquor reaching her nose even from her position in the hallway.

She turned and walked in the opposite direction, avoiding spots in the floor that would creak and slipped into her bedroom. She closed the door with a gentle thud and pulled out a large duffle bag out from under her bed. She was ready to leave, ready to pack everything she'd want or need on this road trip to freedom.

Her hands worked efficiently as she went through everything in her room, sorting. When she'd left Gregor's house, he was contemplating how many books he wanted to bring with him. Picking up the one book she owned, Poppy grinned slightly at the thought. She placed the battered copy into her bag.

"Poppy?" she heard a quiet grumble from the living room and she froze in her tracks. Maybe if she stayed really still, her father would think she wasn't home yet. "Poppy, is that you making all that noise?" 

She waited. Maybe he'd think it was just the sound of the branches hitting the window outside. Before she had the chance to roll her eyes at herself for being so dumb, her father called again. "Poppy! I know you're there!"

She cursed quietly under her breath. "Yes father," she trembled, any evidence of a smile completely gone.

"Come in here a moment," he said in an eerily calm voice for his constant state of being drunk.

Poppy, confused, yet careful, walked lightly to the living room, and made herself visible in the doorway.

"Come closer," her father said when his eyes found her face. She crept forwards only about two steps and stayed standing in front of the couch where he was sitting.

He looked her up and down once then poured the rest of the golden liquid into a glass he was holding. Poppy could feel herself cowering and hated herself for it.

"So, I got a call today," he mused, picking up the glass. "Something about a car that you've been building?" He took a swig from the glass, nearly emptying it halfway. "Is this true?"

A deer stuck in headlights. Poppy's thoughts raced. How had her father found out about her car? Should she tell him the truth? He didn't seem to be really angry right now...

Poppy straightened herself and willed her voice to come out clean. "Yes, I uhm... I just finished it on Tuesday," she muttered  carefully, just loud enough for her father to hear.

In half a second she found herself on the ground and didn't exactly know how she had gotten there until she felt a stinging pain on her cheek. She looked up and saw her father towering above her, scotch still in hand. He took another swig, emptying the glass. He slammed it on the table and grabbed a belt that Poppy hadn't noticed before.

"And what exactly were you planning on doing now that you got your driver's license too?" her father's voice still surprisingly calm.

"How did you know about that?" she asked, still cowering on the floor, reaching her hand to her cheek. When her fingers touched a warm liquid, she realized  that her father had hit her so hard that there was a gash on her cheekbone. She brought her bloodied fingers into her view and grimaced.

He'd hurt her before, sometimes cutting her arms or throwing empty glasses across the room, letting them shatter on the floor and get shards of glass stuck in her skin. He'd hit Poppy before, but his blows had never resulted in anything more than a bloodied nose or dark bruises.

When her watering eyes looked up at her father again, she saw a blurred version of him raising the belt above his head. Poppy snapped her head down, between her arms right as he brought it thrashing down on her back.

Poppy cried out as the sharp pain exploded through her. He whipped her again, and again, and again. The sound of the belt flying through the air made Poppy shriek even before she felt stinging on her back.

He only stopped once Poppy was sobbing, begging for him to stop. Satisfied, her father stopped and watched Poppy's withering body for a moment before putting the belt down.

He crouched down and tugged her face to look at his, making her jaw ache. "You stop working, you abandon me, I kill you. Clear?" 

Choking on her sobs, Poppy managed to sputter a response. "C- cr- cystal," she gasped.

"Go to your room," he said dismissively, throwing her face and getting up to find more alcohol no doubt. "I don't want to hear a single sound from you," he demanded, stumbling away from her.

Poppy nodded, and slowly pushed herself up. Her entire body was shaking and aching so much that it threatened to collapse beneath her. Her legs barely held her up long enough to carry her to her room. Closing the door quietly behind her, she collapsed onto her bed.

I can't wait a moment longer, she thought. I have to leave tonight.