Except.

"Stay here" he whispered, shutting me into the nearest hall closet. I heard his footsteps fade out as he left. My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. The stench of molded socks burned my nose as I sat in the corner. Why? Why did this have to happen to me? To us? I thought, recalling the evening events.

I had gotten home from softball practice and was walking into the foyer when my father approached me. "Where were you girl?", he questioned ribaldly. Chuckling lightly, I smiled "I was at softball practice like every Tuesday dad".

Quicker than I could react, I took a blow to my cheek. The smile that once graced my face was replaced with pure shock. I had dropped my duffel bag on the ground, touching my stinging skin. How could he? He hit his own daughter.

That's when I saw it. The bottle in his hand that he clung to like his life depended on it. The shattered vases and dishes on the floor. The empty bottles of alcohol scattered around the living area. Pillows and sheets thrown all over the room and foyer.

Stunned, I met his eyes. So dark, so dead. I flinched back when he flung his hand out at me. "You think this is funny little girl?". I shook my head, slowly backing up towards the door. Approaching me slowly, he spat "You do! You think I am stupid? That I do not know where you go at night?!".

My back had hit the door, fear arose in me.

Before I knew it, I was on the floor. My hands automatically went to my head, quickly wetting. Blood. My eyes glanced around my environment, noticing all the glass surrounding me.

I shot my eyes back at my father who had made his way to hover over me. This man standing in front of me was not my father. This man in front of me was unrecognizable.

He squatted down, leaning into my ear "You are just a fucking whore...just like your mother is. Just fucking die already!".

His rugged hand captured my neck, digging his nails into my flesh. A mere whimper escaped my lips before everything faded to black.