Daña

Chapter 1 - Just a Taste of Life

Hey, guys! I just wanted to thank you again for giving my first fiction story a chance and I hope you enjoy it!

***MATURE THEMES in this chapter. You've been warned

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I scurried through the double doors of my gigantic stone school when the last school bell rang. As I made my way toward my bike, leaves crunched under my battered boots and my black hair flew wildly behind me caught in strong gusts of wind. The only thoughts in my mind were the consequences my father would exact on me if I didn't make it home in a timely manner.

"Daña!" My best friend, Edith, yelled exasperatedly, out of breath from trying to match my hectic pace.

I paused and turned to face her impatiently, not moving out of the half step I had already taken.

"Goodness, I've been yelling your name for a good two minutes!" She breathed, hunched over and sucking in gulps of air obnoxiously. I quirked a smile at that. After 10 seconds of obnoxious breaths, she finally spoke.

"So... You're coming to my house later, yeah?" She asked hesitantly.

"Uh... Yeah, um... I have to go right now; I'll meet you later," I stuttered.

Waving her off, I sprinted to my old, unstable bike and as quickly as it could handle I rode the twenty-five minutes to my neighborhood that was just as old and unstable as my bike.

I sped into my sorry excuse for a lawn and threw my bike to the ground, which in hindsight probably wasn't very good for the bike, but I had bigger problems. With the same level of speed and energy, I ran to the chipped door of my piss colored house.

Please be sleeping, please be sleeping, please be sleeping...

I cracked the door open as quietly as I could and peeked through. The front door opened into the living room. It wasn't large by any means. An old brown couch covered in large dark spots from spilt beer and ketchup sat against the wall to the right about five feet away from the door and faced towards and even older box television. It sat on a boxy tv stand barely bigger than the TV itself against the wall behind the door. When the front door was fully opened, it narrowly missed hitting the junk TV by an inch.. There was a shelf in it that held the receiver and the surround sound control box thingy and some remotes that I wasn't sure worked anymore. It was all collecting dust along with the random beer bottles and other dispersed pieces of trash. The thing that was missing was the snoring lump of a man and half drunk bottle that usually occupy the furthest left seat of the couch.

Taking that as a safe cue, I finally stepped through the door and turn to close it as softly as I had opened it. However, I was wrong about the safe part. I forgot to check to doorway to the kitchen behind the right arm of the couch to see if the light was on.

A beer bottle whooshed past my head and shattered against the door. A shriek escaped my lips as I spun to face my fate.

"Daña! I thought I told you to be home at 4:00!" My father yelled with a special kind of venom in his voice today.

He grabbed my chin roughly and yanked it to the barely functioning coo-coo clock hanging next to the door. "What time is it?"

When I didn't answer immediately, he screamed it louder. "WHAT TIME IS IT!"

I stifled the quiver in my voice and squeaked, "4:04."

I gasped as the back of his hand connected with my cheek. Tears rolled down my face as I lay sprawled on the floor unceremoniously.

"That's sir to you! Don't you ever address me without respect!"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," I whimpered.

"I can't hear you!" He screamed.

I quickly spoke up when he made a move to hit me again. "Yes, sir! Of course, sir!"

He finally moved away from me shaking his head in disgust.

"You're such a disgrace," he sneered pulling another beer out of the fridge. "Go to your room. Don't come out until tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir," I replied gratefully, but I was careful not to let any of that gratefulness show in my voice. Being grateful for mercy was also a disgrace; I had learned that lesson a long time ago.

I started to walk quickly towards my bedroom. I didn't get far before he stopped me again. I was so close to my bedroom door when he pinned me to the wall holding me by neck. I grappled at his hands trying to loosen his hold, but he was too strong for my weak hands. He only watched me cough while he held me up barely off the floor.

"Don't be late tomorrow," he leered.

He moved his face to my neck and licked up from my collarbone to my earlobe before he let me down. He snickered and stepped away to go sit in his spot in front of the tv, leaving me slumped on the floor against the wall.

Silent sobs wracked my body. I slowly stood and hobbled to my bedroom door. Harder sobs broke their way through my mouth and chest as soon as I got inside. I clamped my hand over my mouth so that he wouldn't be able to hear my pain.

After fifteen minutes I had calmed down some, but only enough to get up from my slouched position against the door. First, I moved to take my crippled backpack off my back. Quite frankly, I was surprised it was still there.

I set it on my bed and started packing it so I could go spend the night Edith's house just as I have done since he started getting this way. He'd never know; he normally passed out on the couch beer in hand around 4:30 and 5 o'clock if not earlier and it's nearly 4:20 now - nor does he ever get up before I leave for school. I'd be back after school tomorrow anyway.

After I was done rifling through my closet and filling my backpack, I sped to the bathroom for a mirror. I needed to see how bad the bruise was, and hopefully I could cover it up.

As I expected, looking into the filthy mirror, a welt was forming on my face, but I sighed in relief; it wasn't the worst he'd ever done to me.

After putting nearly two pounds of concealer on it, I could still see it, but only slightly. Thank goodness, I think to myself. By then nearly fifteen minutes had passed, so I went to the door and listened for my father's loud, gurgly snore.

It sounded off as if right on cue, so I finished packing the rest of my minimal makeup stash, stuffed it back into my backpack, and moved as silently as possible to my window. I was straddling the window sill when I turned and looked back at my room.

It was probably the cleanest room in the house even though the white carpet was now a muddy yellow color with random spots of red from my blood. My dresser and my desk, adjacent to each other, were covered in dust, random papers, trash, and whatever else you could think of. My miniature closet was also in shambles from my ripping through it for clothes to pack.

What a high bar, I think sarcastically.

My bed was the only thing even close to pristine; it even looked out of place in my garbage can of a room. I hardly ever slept in it, after all.

I shook my head and the solemn thoughts away. I shoved myself off of the window sill and landed on the ground with a thud. I tiptoed to my bike, careful to avoid the windows (not like you can see through them anyway, but better safe than sorry) and started the commute to my best friend's house. 

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Hey! I hope you liked it! If you have any questions, comments, or concerns (like suggestions for hashtags or new covers for me - that'd be awesome) - please feel free to comment, vote, or message me!

Thank you so much! I'll see you in a week!