| Chapter 2 |
| "Hi Dad." I said cheerfully walking through the door at 6:00 trying to hide from him what had happened. "What the hell are you doing home?" He grunted out, his eyes still fixated on the small television directly in from of him. "Um, well I got in a little accident" I said trying to get into my room before he got up. "How's the truck?" He asked pulling himself out of the old ratty recliner. He wore a stained white t-shirt and a pair of old jeans that desperately needed to be washed and patched up. His huge belly jiggled as he stood up and his partly bald head reflected the light of the bright television in the dimly lit room. "Totaled." I said timidly. "What the f*ck were you thinking? Now how are you gonna get to work you stupid bitch." He yelled, his face turning a bright red. He came toward me and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was extremely intoxicated, then again he usually was. He raised his hand and I felt it swipe me across my face sharply. I cowered down in a corner trying to shield my face with my arms. I felt him grab my arm roughly and jerk me to my feet. Tears streamed down my face and blood down my chin. Although it wasn't a rare occasion when my dad hit me, it was not something I could ever get used to. I looked up and saw Brian coming out of his bedroom and into the hall. "Brian go to bed," I shouted, "Lock your door." "Shut up whore!" My dad said throwing me up against the wall. My head slammed against it hard sending pain through the side of my forehead. He slapped me once again across the face and grabbed my shoulder. His face was sweating but he seemed to have no trouble tossing me like a ragdoll into the hallway. "Getta bed. I don't wanna see you 'gain." He yelled in a slurred voice. I scurried into my bedroom when Brian ran in behind me. I collapsed into his arms. I was weak with struggle. Brian gently wiped the blood off my face and laid with me until I finally cried myself to sleep. *** *** *** I managed to cover up most of my bruises with make-up but my split lip could not be hidden. I went through most of the day without anyone asking any questions until the last class of the day. I walked into poetry/literature class and sat in the back of the room. The guy who hit me the day before sat in the seat next to me quietly. "Ok, just work quietly on those semester projects. Write some kind of poem, statement, or even song. You have a few months. Get to work." Mrs. Denison said. I began to jot ideas into my notebook. I looked them over and scribbled them out violently. My whole mind was taken over with worries. I worried about getting to work, about Brian being home alone with dad, and especially about what I was going to do about paying the bills. Without the truck I would have to take public transportation. My hours would be cut a lot. |