The Golden Girl

1| s m i l e • a n d • h i d e • t h e • t r u t h √

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"Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone, In a world that she can rise above."
-Martina McBride, Concrete Angel
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Leigh's POV

Fathers are supposed to love and cherish their baby girls. They're supposed to treat them like princesses. Tell them that there are bad people in the world but it is okay to be afraid. They're supposed to check for monsters under your bed and invent ways to make you laugh. A father should be willing to go above and beyond to make his princess smile when she's sad.

I've never had that with my father. We didn't have inside jokes or secret hiding places. Growing up I watched my friends bond with their fathers and I listened to them complain about their father's keeping them from having fun, not understanding that their fathers loved them and were trying to protect them. They didn't understand or stop to think that there were people without that loving and supportive father figure.

They didn't know that if one day I were to be hit by a car chances are my father would be driving it or that if it weren't for my mom I would've just up and left. But I couldn't leave her alone with him not when I know firsthand what happens after a hard day at the office or if there was a decline in the polls.

No one knew that their beloved Mayor was an abusive drunkard once he was away from the public eye. As I stared at my reflection the glass of water I thought back to the day it started.

It was the day after my 6th birthday around 10 pm and I had snuck downstairs to get more cake even though I knew I wasn't supposed to. I was on my second piece when I heard the door handle jiggling. I remember being so scared at first but then I heard mumbling. Instantly I recognized the voice and ran to the door.

"Daddy!" I exclaimed jumping into his arms. Despite never being close and not seeing him a lot I didn't expect what came next.

"Get off me, brat."

"Daddy?" My lips quivered. He has never shouted at me before or called me names. He would ignore me if I spoke or even forget about picking me up but never yelled. I've heard him yell at mommy before but whenever I asked about it she would just tell me with glistening eyes, "Oh sweetie Daddy and Mommy were just playing a game to see who could go the loudest." And whenever I'd ask about the bruises and shattering noises she would tell me that they were playing 'hide and seek' and things got too crazy.

Even though I was young I knew that things were off none of my other friends told stories of their parents doing things like this in the middle of the night so I let it go. But that night at only 6 years old I felt a drunkard's wrath.

"D-d-daddy I'm scared." I whimpered. He reeked of alcohol; I had never seen him this drunk. Occasionally he would have a glass of whiskey but never enough to get drunk. But I'd also never seen him this angry.

"Shut up, don't call me that."

"I'm sorry daddy."

"What did I say you ugly bitch." He responded back-handing me.

I fell on the floor with a thud. As I laid there in a ball taking his kicks I heard footsteps stampeding down the stairs and in came my mom, rushing towards me pulling me into her arms.

I heard them shouting back and forth until my father yanked my mother by her hair pulling her to her knees.

"Listen here you slut I'm the man of the house and I do what I want." His voice low sending a chill down my spine as the hairs on my neck stood alert. Looking into his eyes I saw a fire I'd never seen before. Despite being only 6 years old I understood what that look meant. He hated us with every fiber in his being and this wouldn't be the last night this would happen.