Barely Lethal

Prologue.

He came home from a night out with a bunch of his gambling guys. He had excessively too much to drink like always.

"Quinn!"

I froze as I heard my named being called. It wasn't just footsteps behind me–the stench of cheap cologne, stale beer, and anger crept ever closer. I desperately wanted to pick up my pace up the stairs but I knew the result wouldn't be so pleasing.

"Did you just get home?" my voice was dry.

"Why does it matter?" He managed to slur.

"Whatever." I mumbled. I didn't expect him to hear it.

I slowly climbed down and faced him. The next thing I knew, his foot quickly to the bottom of my jaw. Blood was spilling from the inside of my mouth, but I got up. Anger filled his fist and quickly his knuckles met my cheekbone. There was blood all over the red carpet. He picked me up from the ground and threw me onto the couch. He climbed on top of me and wrapped his hands around my neck.

"You don't get to give me attitude!" his body was bursting with rage, and it didn't look like he was going to stop anytime soon.

I could barely breathe, "Stop! Please stop! Ill do anything, just please stop! Don't kill me dad, please."

His mind finally clicked. He realized what he'd been doing to me, and immediately released my neck. I stood up and looked at him in horror. I didn't understand why he'd do this. It might have been the alcohol but I was sure it wasn't. I could tell from his eyes that it might not be the last time he'll act this way.

I swiftly got up and pushed him away. His body went crashing through the glass table in front of me. It shattered into a million pieces.

I quickly headed up the stairs and into my bedroom. I wiped the sweat from my brow with a trembling hand, fear from my narrow escape coursing through my veins.

Still trembling, I stumbled and plopped down behind my door. Sweat stung my eyes and I wiped my face on my shirt. That was way too close. If I hadn't run when I did.. I shuddered.