BILLIE.
"What do you think you're doing?" My dad yelled, slamming the door closed.
I looked at him, confused, "obviously cooking, since you're too fucking gone to even walk." I spat, referring to the fact that he was definitely drunk or high right now.
He stumbled over to me, and that's when he raised his hand, obviously toying with me, "Don't talk to me like that." He gritted through his teeth. My dad's favorite pastime was to provoke me, he always pretended he would hit me in order to 'keep me in line'.
I stared at him in anger as my dad stumbled his way out of the kitchen. There was so much that I wanted to say and do but I couldn't, because who knows, maybe the next time won't be a tease.
My father is a bit of a drinker, it's how I get my bruises. He doesn't hurt me intentionally, probably because i look like my mom and deep down he cares, but it doesn't stop him from doing things he knows will hurt me.
I turned off the stove and threw out the spaghetti, If he wanted something to eat he can make it himself. With that being said, I ran up to my room and decided to vent to the only person who cared for me at the moment.
