You don't control me, Dixon

➊ 13: Why Are You Like This?

♤

One time when I was eight years old,  I sneaked through the front door from getting home from school, I knew that my daddy's home, the lights were on through the window.

That and the immaculate 1967 chevy impala, a pretty black car was parked in the driveway. It's been raining for most of the day, yet, there wasn't a puddle under the car. He's been home for a bit and I could bet he's had been drinking.

I had cringed as the wooden floor creaked underfoot.

"Luciana! Get the fuck over here!" My daddy's voice had boomed from the living room. 

My heart wanted out of my chest, I had gotten my clothes dirty with the other kids at school that day.

I distinctly remember standing frozen as I try to control my gasping breaths. Ok, OK, OK.

"The fuck is your problem you worthless bitch! I said to get the fuck here, You know if you wait, its gonna be worse!" My daddy's angry yell felt like a punch in my face.

If I cry its gonna be worse. It always was.

I inhaled deeply, held it, and slammed my fist into my chest right above where my teacher said my heart was over and over until there was stinging in my chest, either from punching myself or from the lack of air, I don't know.

I stopped and inhaled fresh air and put a mask of blank on my face, before I had briskly walked into the living room, ready for the worst.

"Yes, daddy?" I had squeaked with my childish high pitched voice. I can tell by his face that he's not happy.

I had looked down to my black sneakers with dirt-stained frilly white socks that always annoyingly tickled my ankles and pull on the long sleeve shirt with white and blue stripes that lays under jean blue shorts overalls.

The dark bruises on my legs and the worse ones under my long sleeves brushed away under the pretense that I was clumsy. Those stupid teachers.

I felt the angry eyes before the equally angry grasp to my elbows, the large thumbs pressing into the needle sized holes in my elbow pit.

I had bit my lip to withhold a cry as he yelled at me "This is me being calm! I'm not angry! I am calm!" I nodded feverishly as if it would make him calm, but I knew that's not the truth.

I was pushed to the ground as daddy sat in his chair, I'm sure the chair has an image of his butt. His breathing started heaving as he placed his head in his hands as he asked with a voice more animalistic than human "Tell, Tell me why I got a call from your teacher. I told you that if you ever bother me with the problems that daddy's not gonna be happy and take you from school."

His eyes whipped to me, pinning me in place, "Right?" I nod and looked down to my scraped knees from playing that fateful day.

"Tell me! I asked you a question girl!" Daddy yelled as he grabbed my face with his large hand.

I remember that I had gasped out "I told them that it was my birthday and that I'm celebrating it there! But- But when the teacher asked why, I told her it was because you were busy with work that you probably forgot! I'm sorry daddy! I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

Daddy held me above the ground from what seems like ten feet as he looks me up and down.

From the dirty white socks to the mud smudged in my dirty blonde hair. He moved his hand from my face to the top of my throat that made me paw at the hand, not daring to claw, as he asked "Why are you all dirty?"