Then Came You

Chapter 4

Skye's POV

"How was your day, slut?" My father mocks. Horrible.

"Fine, thank you." I reply curtly. Why does he have to be an asshole about everything? Seriously. Doesn't he know he puts me through enough? Of course he does. He just doesn't care.

"Well, now you're entering your own personal hell. Hope you're ready." It's routine. I've learned to be ready. He doesn't need to know that, or else he would push me harder. I really don't need, or want,  that.

"Go into the kitchen and start scrubbing the floors. You know what to do." He's going to try and take me by 'surprise.' While I'm cleaning, he'll give me random hits. But I've learned when to expect them.

Walking into the kitchen, I head to the sink and grab a rag and fill up the small bucket that was under the counter. I begin to fill the bucket up with water and squeeze some soap into it. Then, I kneel down n the ground and start scrubbing.

It'll be a few minutes before the first blow.

Just a few more months until this ends. I will be able to restart my life. And I'll never have to see my father again. I'm looking forward to that. A life that doesn't involve new bruises every night, or having to look at empty beer bottles. A life where I get more than a piece of toast for a meal. That sounds perfect to me.

A burning feeling erupts on the side if my face and I know the torture has begun.

"Does that hurt?" My father hisses. "How about this?" He delivers a blow to my side. I gasp, clutching my side.

"Yeah?" Another blow. "Should I hit you harder?" I'm in too much pain to respond. But even if I did, it would result in more hits.

"I'm going to take that as a yes." Another one, harder than the last time, is given to me. I groan.

It's like this nearly every time. Sometimes he kicks me with the heel of his boot, and sometimes he takes a leather belt with holes in it, and hits me with that. This, is me getting lucky.

I can feel blood pooling in my mouth. It's amazing I haven't lost any teeth.

"You're done. Finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen." He motions around the room, his eyes glazed over. Of course he's drunk.

I finish scrubbing the floor, and doing the dishes, then I walk up the stairs to my room. I grab a light jacket and my wallet, knowing I can sneak out tonight.

I quietly make my way downstairs and unlock the front door. I make my to the end of the driveway and take a deep breath. This is my life. And I have to deal with it.

I star walking down the street, hoping to get to Mc. Donald's.

I look around the dimly lit street and see only a few house lights on, and a few people are on their porch smoking or talking on the phone. I avoid their gazes, not wanting them to catch a glimpse of my face.

I make my way to Mc. Donald's and enter the warm building. I wish my house was this warm. I walk up to the cashier and look at the menu behind her.

"Welcome to Mc. Donald's. What can I get you?" She asks her rehearsed line politely.

"Umm, can I have a Big Mac with an order of fries and a sprite, please?" I don't know why I ask. I could've just told her what I wanted and added the please. But since when was I normal?