I watched the sky fade from a pretty pink color to dark. I sat in my room dreading the night, as I always did. The front door opened and all I heard was the sound of heavy boots walking in the house. I sighed and left my room. I opened the door and found my dad making his way to his favorite rocking recliner. He wore a dirty shirt with faded jeans and black working boots.
“Is my food ready?” My father spat at me. I nodded my head and hurried to the kitchen. Grabbing the plate out of the oven, I looked over the food to make sure it was prepared to his standards.
“Daddy!” The voices of my two brothers filled the living room. They ran quickly to hug my father. I walked into the living room to find all three of them waiting for their food. I set the meals down and handed them their drinks. My father’s dark eyes burned holes on my skin. He watched everything I did so closely, waiting for me to make a mistake.
After dinner, I picked up after them. Constantly checking over my shoulder to make sure my father was happy and content. I noticed my father was on his fifth beer and set down his empty glass. Knowing what to do, I walked over to him and picked it up and set down a new bottle. Turning away from him, I accidentally hit the remote, changing the channel in the process.
“You bitch.” The breaking of glass scared me to my core. I sprinted to my parent’s room, as it was the only room with a lock. I slammed the door and locked it. I scanned the room and decided to hide behind the bed.
The door handle jiggled. Tears began to fall from my eyes. His fist hit the door, and I jumped. Goosebumps started to rise on my arms, and my heart began to pound. Every few seconds, there was loud noise at the door.
“You know I am going to get you.” His face appeared in my mind. It was red and mad. Eyebrows scrunched, and a frown rested on his face. I looked up at the door to see his fist break through. The darkness that surrounded me was interrupted by a bright light. His fist was red and bloody.
The shield that protected me was opened. I looked up to see my father peering at me, relishing in my fear. He grabbed me by the neck and pinned me up against the wall. His hand met my face causing me to yelp.
“You made a mistake, sweetheart.” His face was close to mine. His breath was riddled with alcohol.
“Now you will be punished.” His grip around my neck tightened. The weak fight I was trying to put up, slowly faded. I knew I couldn’t win, I never did. I was thrown across the room, and into the mirror. I whimpered laying on the floor, helpless.
“Dad, is everything okay?” My nine-year-old brother asked.
“Everything is okay, go back and play with your brother.” His voice changed. My father turned towards me and looked around the room. I watched him as a smirk grew on his face. He grabbed me by my long brown hair and dragged me to the chest. He opened the lid and looked down at me.
“You will be going in here.” He picked me up and placed me into the wooden box. He shut the lid and sat down. I tried to kick it open, but there was no use.
“Stop kicking sweetheart. You will only make it worse.” His gruff voice boomed. “Do you know how much of a mistake you are? How I wish we never had you? Your mother and I should have aborted you when we found out you were a girl; girls are so fucking stupid. Just ask your mother. I guess you get that from her.”
He continued insulting me and telling me how much of a mistake I was. From what I assumed was three hours later, he let me out. My weak body was forced to clean up the mess he had made.
The next morning, my mother came back and was oblivious to the whole situation. Only questioning the missing door. My father created an excuse, and she dismissed the fact. I furiously applied make-up to my neck, hoping no one would find out about what my father did.
Photo Credit: Debs (ò‿ó)♪ Flickr via Compfight cc
