Beautiful Disaster

Chapter Three

“I’ve been thinking…,” my dad said as I walked into the living room.

“Always a dangerous thing,” I couldn’t help remarking. I could tell he smirked even though he was looking out the window.

“Maybe we could go to the movies this weekend. You know, just hanging out like we used to, before…,” he trailed off, but we both knew what he was referring to.

When my mom was alive, we used to go to the movies every other weekend, just the two of us. My mom was always active, always moving around. Where my dad was fine with just sitting down and relaxing.

This still caught me off guard. He’s been cold and distant since mom died. Maybe he would become the dad I knew and loved again.

He turned around and I saw his eyes widen as they took in my hair. I was leaning on the wall by one of the many potted plants in the house. Seems like my attempt to hide didn’t work out very well.

His face started turning red with fury as he strode over to me. I could feel my hope deflate like a balloon popped. This was what I was hoping to avoid. I turned around and went to flee up to my room when my dad grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me back.

I stumbled and fell on the floor as he loomed over me. He kicked me in my ribs before I could cover myself.

“Why would you do this? You’re making a fool out of yourself and embarrassing me!” he yelled, continuing to kick any part of me he could.

I could only curl up and hope for it to end. I knew pleading with him didn’t work, because he didn’t hear me in his state. I also knew that crying or yelling didn’t help either.

I felt a burning pain in my ankle and cried out. He kicked the same ankle he had sprained only a week ago. He grabbed my arms and pulled me up, jostling my ankle further. I could feel the hot tears pouring down my face as he half dragged; half carried me towards the kitchen.

This was yet another time when I wished that our house wasn’t as big as he pulled me continuously towards the kitchen, my ankle throbbing the whole time.

His grip on my arm was so tight; I could already see bruises forming. The pain in my arm and ankle was over-shadowed though, by the pain in my ribs. Each breath hurt, and each movement shot white hot pain through my nervous system.

“Daddy, please stop! I’m sorry,” I pleaded, trying to get him to let go of my arm. ”Daddy please, you’re hurting me.”

It seemed he snapped out of a trance as he stared at me with wide eyes. Then abruptly he let go of my arm. All of my weight was leaning in him, so when he dropped me; I fell.

I muffled my scream as my battered body hit the hardwood floor. He immediately dropped next to me and pulled me up into his lap.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry baby girl,” he murmured over and over again. I held on to him as tears poured out of my eyes.

He held me out at arm’s length and opened his mouth to say something; when he was interrupted by the doorbell.

“Are you okay,” he asked worriedly; I just nodded. He sighed and kissed my forehead as he helped me up and on to the counter as the doorbell rang again.

“I have to go answer the door. I’ll be right back,” he assured as he walked quickly out of the kitchen. I breathed a shaky sigh of relief as he left.

I felt so confused. Shouldn’t I hate my dad for what he did to me? Shouldn’t I tell, or even want to tell? But I didn’t feel any of this. I loved him with all my heart, especially now that he was my only parent. I forgave him the moment he said sorry.

I was pulled out of my confusion when my dad called for me from the direction of the front door.

I winced as I slowly slid down from the counter and almost gasped out loud when my weight rested on my left ankle. Leaning against the counter, I took a couple seconds to regroup and prepare myself to move.

When I finally did start walking I felt like sitting right back down. The ache in my ribs was worse than before and I had to stop every couple steps to regain my breath.

Even in my pained state I remembered to grab a long cashmere sweater to drape over myself. After all, whoever was at the door could not see the hand shaped bruises on my arms; least they start asking questions.

As I made my way painfully to the front entrance I could hear my dad’s familiar deep, smooth voice drifting back to me. Then another unfamiliar voice; this one rich and expressive. Too deep to be a boy’s voice.

I turned the corner and froze in my tracks when I saw my dad conversing with Sebastian.

When he looked over and saw me, his eyes widened briefly before returning to their normal size. As I got closer I saw that they were a rich, dark green that seemed to sparkle.

“I’ve never seen eyes this color,” I mused idly as I got closer. “I wonder if he has contacts,” I wondered…

I was pulled out of my ridiculous thoughts when my dad placed his hand softly on my arm, conscience of the bruises he inflicted.

“Do you know this young man, D?” my dad questioned, sending Sebastian a wary glance.

I opened my mouth to respond when Sebastian interrupted.

“We met at the hair salon this afternoon,” stated confidently, watching my dad closely.

I barely refrained from snorting in the most unattractive manner when he said that. He was being presumptuous saying that we had “met” when he took one look at me and decided on the spot that he hated me. Well I guess hate was too strong a word, but it felt as though he hated me.

I was so busy trying to not make a fool of myself that I almost missed my dad’s reaction when Sebastian mentioned the salon, and therefore my hair.

His jaw clenched the slightest, and Sebastian watched his every move.

A/N What do you think, yay or nay...