My dad’s voice drones on, but with my head bowed, I pretend to be submissive and hide in the safety of my mind. Almost every day since Nicole left, I’ve coped by retreating inside myself, to a place where my dad’s words don’t hurt me; where my mama’s weakness doesn’t devastate me; and where my sister’s death doesn’t feel like the worst kind of betrayal.
This is the first time in over a year where instead of withdrawing to the blissful blackness of my mind, I see a Technicolor picture of him.
Daisy.
I remember every detail: the blond hair, the scruffy beard, the strong arms covered in colorful tattoos. I don’t even know him, but somehow, he’s become my safe place—my escape.
Strong hands pinch my shoulders, painfully dragging me back to reality.
“Angelique, you idiot. Are you even listening?” My father screams at me.
Years of silence, of constantly forcing myself to hold in my words has conditioned me to change the tone of my voice when I speak to my father. He’ll take any hint of confidence as disobedience—speak too loudly and I’m aggressive; too quietly and I’m an imbecile. So instead, I use the monotone drawl of the role I’m forced to play. “Yes, Sir. I’m listening.”
Without even looking at him, I can picture his face. Red and angry, he always looks the same; like just being around me is unpleasant. If I were braver, I’d tell him I hate being around him too. But instead, like too many times before, I stand silently and take the insults and abuse.
“I don’t know what I did to be punished so badly. God must really hate me to lumber me with you and your stupid mother for the rest of my life. Where the hell am I going to find a husband who’s prepared to take on someone like you? At least you’re not plain, I suppose that’s something you’ve got going for you. I’m sure your husband can train you to stand silently at his side and look pretty. That’s all your mother’s ever been good for, at least until she lost her looks,” he sneers.
Husband? For a moment I forget to zone him out, years of practice shattered in the blink of an eye. I do the unthinkable, I lift my head and words spill from me before I consider them. “I’m eighteen. I’m not getting married, I’m going to college.”
His eyes bulge in his head, a frown forces his lips down at the sides and then he laughs. The coarse sound is mean, a fake laugh intended to belittle me. I brace myself for his reaction. I’d almost prefer violence than the biting sting of words that bury themselves into my soul, still festering years later, rotting me from the inside out.
Bruise’s fade, but years of emotional torture tattoos itself onto your soul.
“College. You? Ha, they don’t let morons into college,” he snarls. Stepping closer, he grabs my chin between his fingers, squeezing painfully. He forces my face up until I have to either look at him or close my eyes.
I might be silent, but I refuse to be defeated by him. I listen to his insults and mentally store them all.
“You’re a stupid little moron who will never amount to anything. You’re too ignorant to go to college; they’d laugh you out of the place on the first day when they realized how much of an idiot you are,” he shouts.
I pull in a silent breath and brace myself for his onslaught. He’s on a roll, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
“The only thing you’re good for is making someone a pretty little doll that does exactly as she’s told. Just like your mother, and your sister if she hadn’t turned into a desperate slut who whored herself out to anyone who smiled at her.”
He drops my chin, but I steel my shoulders. He hasn’t finished yet. He’s enjoying himself. Abusing me and my mama is one of his favorite things.
“Now, if you’re a good little idiot, I’ll find you a nice husband who’ll be happy with a dimwit for a wife. But if I ever hear any of this college nonsense again I won’t be so particular over who I let marry you. Maybe that’s what you need, someone to beat some sense into you?”
He leans in closer, so he can whisper into my ear. I force myself not to cower even as revulsion eats away at my flesh. I want to push him away, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got to me.
“That’s what I had to do. I had to take a belt to your stupid mother over and over again until she learned how to be quiet and pretty.”
I force my body to stay rigid, but on the inside, I’m shaking from head to toe from a mixture of rage and fear. His coarse laugh and smug smile taunt me as he steps back. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands and force myself not to speak. Squeezing my fists tightly, I feel the skin break, the pain a balm for the emotion pulsing through me. My hands burn, the familiar feeling is the only reason I don’t reach for the closest thing I can use as a weapon and attack him with it.
His eyes roam over me and obviously finding me wanting he walks away; his disgusting smile is the last thing I see before he turns his back to me. I wait until he leaves the room and the door to his office clicks shut, then I grab a cushion from the sofa, hold it against my face and scream into it.
Tears fall down my cheeks, but I’m not upset, I’m angry. No, I’m furious.
Turning on the spot, I stare at the front door. The verbal attack I’ve just endured will be nothing to what I’ll get if I sneak out, but I can’t stay in his house for another moment. I check over my shoulder, just in case he’s sneaking up behind me, but the room’s still empty. Rushing for the door I throw it open and step outside, carefully pulling it closed behind me.
Fresh air surrounds me, and I pull in a deep cleansing breath. Thoughts of returning to the house makes my shoulders tense. I back away in jerky steps and then I’m running, away from my home and toward the freedom of our tiny town of Archer’s Creek.
Head down, I run down the sidewalk, desperate to get as far away from our house and my father as possible. My heart pounds in my chest and realizing running is conspicuous, I slow down to a walk, but still move as fast as I can. I barely take notice of my surroundings and let my feet guide me along the familiar streets. I don’t know where I’m running too. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere is better than at home, with that monster. I hurry around a corner just off Main Street and run straight into someone.
I bounce off a hard chest and land on my butt on the sidewalk. Disoriented, I sit on the floor with my hair falling over my eyes and hiding my face. Gentle fingers part my hair, tucking the strands behind my ears. I lift my eyes and my breath catches. It’s him.
“Hello, Angel,” Daisy says.