His Possession

Chapter Twenty:

EMILY'S POINT OF VIEW

I walked into my house after coming home from school, my nose immediately scrunching up in disgust as I smelt the air inside my house. I stunk like weed, stale darts, and booze. I dropped my school bag and walked over to the kitchen, finding myself digging into the pantry for something edible to eat.

I frowned when I saw that the pantry was basically empty. There wasn't much food except a jar of old peanut butter, some stale crackers, and tomato sauce. I shrugged and reached for the peanut butter, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and eating it by the spoon full.

I pulled out my phone and began scrolling through my messages. Nothing. Surprise, surprise.

I clicked it off and shoved it back into my back pocket, pulling out my notebook instead. I began going over my Advanced Functions homework, when a large smash from upstairs made me jump. Guess they're finally awake now. I thought, sadly.

I tensed up on the stool in the dirty kitchen, attempting to focus on my homework and maybe then, they would leave me alone.

"Move it, bitch!" I heard my dad yell from his room. The walls were thin and really didn't drown out much noise in the house. "I'm tired of hearing your complaining!" I heard the clatter and a sound of something hitting the floor. Dad was angry again.

I heard my mom let out a slew of curse words and storm down the stairs, my dad following right behind.

"You don't do anything in this house!" My dad screamed. I looked back at the stairs cautiously, noticing that he had been wearing the same old tank top that I always saw him wearing. Which had stains and rips all over it. His jeans, were caked in paint and other stains I dared not question.

"Shut the fuck up, David." My mom shot back, walking into the kitchen. I saw her and forced a small smile, hoping that she was in a good mood today.

Her eyes met mine and she quickly looked away, rooting through the pantry and fridge for some food.

I heard my dad stomp into the living room, tossing his large body onto the couch and flicking on the TV.

"Hey mom," I carefully broke the silence. "How'd you sleep?"

She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka, pouring it's contents into a dirty glass. She lifted up the bottle, ignoring my question and staring at it's emptiness. She quickly slammed the glass down onto the counter, making me jump again.

She turned towards me with narrowed eyes, taking a gulp out of her drink before answering me, "Did you get into my vodka?" My mouth remained glued shut. I wanted to tell her that she had been drinking so much and couldn't even remember the night before, but I decided against it.

I shook my head quickly, gesturing at my school work in front of me. "I have been at school all day mom, I didn't touch it, I promise." I found myself begging, in hopes of escaping another beating from dad.

My eyes locked onto hers. Her hair had been piled up into a messy bun, falling all over her face in a mess. She was wearing a plaid pull over, with a tank top underneath. Her PJ shorts were wrinkled and barely fit anymore. I noticed the new bruises all over her arms and legs. Some of which were new, some older.

"Then why is the fucking bottle empty, Emily? Explain that!" She gestured back to the broken bottle on the counter, swinging her drink around and spilling some of it onto the kitchen floor.

I heard my dad shuffle up from his seat on the couch, sauntering over into the kitchen. His heavy footsteps made me tense up, feeling even more nervous at the sound of them. I looked over at him, evident fear painted on my face. His eyes locked onto mine before looking over at the broken glass on the counter. His hand went up to his receding hairline, scratching thoughtfully before sighing.