The story of us

Part 1

I check my phone and see it's 7:25PM. 'Oh great' I thought. My dad will be home soon... I've been making dinner since 6:30. Just to satisfy Ol' dad. My parents got a divorce when I was 5. I stay with my mom over the summer sometimes. I'm with my dad the rest of the year. I hear the door open and I pull my hoodie sleeves down because I shiver when the cold air hits my arms. My dad walks into the kitchen. "Oh good. You have dinner done." I look at him and say, "I always have dinner done for you." He stares at me with anger in his eyes and says, "don't start with me, Alison. I'm not in the mood." I walk to the cabinet and grab two plates. I put most of the food on dad's plate and a little bit on mine. I set them on the table and my dad sits down by his plate. "Beer." He says. Oh great he's already starting. I walk to the fridge and grab a bottle of beer, before I could set it on the table, he stanches it out of my hand. I go to my plate and sit in front of it. I pick at my food; while on the other hand, dad is scarfing his food. He finishes and looks at me. I know what he wants. I pass my plate over to him and he finishes mine as well, even though I didn't eat any of it. Once he's done, I grab the two plates and head over to the sink to wash the dishes. As I'm washing the dishes, I feel my dad come up behind me, watching me. "You missed a spot." he says, scaring me so much that I drop the plate into the sink, breaking it. "Are you fucking kidding me, Alison?!" I try to grab the pieces, but I just end up cutting my hand. "Now look, you're getting blood all over!" I back away, holding my hand with my other hand. "I'm sorry, dad..." I say as I look at my feet. "Sorry isn't going to cut it kid, and look at me when you speak to me!" I look at him with tears in my eyes and then I feel a sharp pain on my cheek. He slapped me... It's not the first time, so I don't know why it surprised me... I just look down. "Now, grab a rag and clean up the blood off the floor, now!" I quickly grab a rag and get on my hands and knees on the floor and start whipping the blood up, but just end up smearing it more. Then I feel something he's never done before. I feel his foot connect to my stomach. Kicking, over, and over again, until I didn't know if the blood on the floor was from my hand or from what I was coughing up. Once he thought I got the perfect punishment, he stopped, grabbed another beer from the fridge and went to his office.