SUSPECTS || unedited

ii.i

chapter ii.i

*****

The steps creak underneath her feet as she slowly descends down the wooden stairs.

Quietly, I made my way downstairs as I try not to wake up my father from the peaceful slumber he was in. Peaceful for me of course...sleep equals no beating...no sleep equals beating. It was quite the simple formula I've gotten the hang of over the years.

It was approximately three in the morning, and the quietness of the apartment is challenged as the rerun of the football game plays on the television and the loud arguing outside the windows confirms the inadequate location of the apartment. Gradually I make my way towards the master bedroom where all the remaining possession boxes from the old house lay.

Whiskey and beer engulf my body as I open the door to the master bedroom. This was undeniably the worst bedroom in the house. Red stains caress the walls and the floor, which I am hoping is red wine and the carpet is not a cream white now but a dark brown color from dirt and debris.

The brown boxes lay on the ground partially open and tape hanging from the sides of them, I quickly realize Dave has made an attempt to start unpacking the boxes.

Bending down to open the first box, I am quickly stopped by the sound of a voice that would make an old man shake like a leaf in the wind.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" Dave whispers, sleep and drunkenness evident in his voice.

"...I seemed to have misplaced one of my boxes that had some pictures in it." I say without turning around. He was like a wild animal, any sudden movement in the wrong way would set him off in the wrong way.

"What kind of pictures? Pictures of yourself because of the tart you are?" he scoffs.

"Of mom. They were pictures of mom. I was trying to find them so I could put them on the wall in my room." I explain slowly standing up and turning on my heels so I could face him.

"What did you just say...?" his expressions low and dangerous, taking one small step at a time towards me, walking into the master bedroom.

"The pictures were of the old family...." I say slowly trying to explain without touching the wrong nerve and I instantly regret the mistake of speaking at all because next thing I know he pounces on me grabbing me by my hair and pulling me down with him.

I can only reach his knees and shins at this point, so that was my only target. I started punching his kneecaps, only hoping that I could punch hard enough to dislocate them so when I get free he cannot run after me.

He punches my face, the side of my head, my neck, my arms, and anywhere else he could possibly reach so he could inflict the most damage as possible. All while suffocating me, owing to the fact that his body weight was thrice mine.

The crimson blood trickles from off my nose, tickling my mouth on the way down and on to the brown shaggy carpet enveloping the floor. He eventually finds the point in time to stop punching me and get off my body. As he starts to walk away, he delivers the last blows as kicks to my skull.

'Stay awake. Stay awake' I try and tell myself.

"You. Were. The. Worst. Thing. That. Has. Ever. Happened. To. Me." he says in between kicks before stomping away and slamming the door shut in the process.

I attempt to move my arms as support for getting up, and as I get them both into 90-degree angles my right arm gives out, making my head slam into the floor at a rapid speed. The walls start spinning and the ceiling looks like it's closing in on the floor for a hug, squishing me in the process.