3 Fatherly Abuse

"Kaylanna Grey," my father's voice rang throughout the house. "WHERE IS MY BEER?"

I stopped everything that I was doing and quickly ran down the stairs. I rushed into the kitchen and yanked the fridge's door open and grabbed the beer. I took the top off and walked into the dining room to see my father lying on the couch. I walked up to him and softly shook his arm. "Here you go, dad."

He snapped his eyes open and yanked the beer bottle away from me. "Give me that and get your ass back upstairs."

I didn't say one word and did as I was told. I locked my bedroom door and got back to doing my work. It was about 30 minutes in when I heard a loud crash and then a groan. I quietly stood up from my bed and walked over to the door where I leaned my head against it, placing my ear against the door to see if I could hear what was going on on the other side.

"I'm so tired of your bullshit," my father said. "Why won't you die?"

"SHUT UP," my mother screamed. "YOU RUINED US!"

I shook my head and cleared away from the door, taking a seat on my bed. The arguing between my parents continued on for what felt like an hour before it was suddenly dead silent. I was very aware of my surroundings and knew better not to open my door and check on what was going on. I decided to stay out of whatever argument they were having and just finish whatever work I had.

That was until there was a loud bang on my door and my father was frantically shouting my name. "OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR, KAYLANNA!"

I closed my book and shoved all of my papers into my backpack and threw my backpack under my bed. I gulped and sat on my bed, staring at the door. "Dear God," I said, closing my eyes. "I know I haven't prayed to you in awhile but I'm asking you, please make him go away. Please make him leave me alone. That's all I'm asking."

I held my eyes shut as the banging on my door continued to grow louder and more aggressive within every second. I continued praying and praying until the banging on my door stopped and I was finally able to open my eyes. I let out a small and silent breath of air, afraid that if I sighed out loud, it would be just a fantasy and the banging would start all over again. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't handle it.

"Why is this happening to me?" I said out loud to no one in particular. "Why me? Why am I going through this? What have I ever done?"

The pain I felt in my chest appeared again, but the pain that I felt was the pain of not being loved. It was the pain that told me that I wasn't worthy, that I didn't belong here. I lied on my back and stared at the ceiling, my breathing suddenly becoming irregular. I knew that my panic attack was coming.

Tears fell out of my eyes and my entire body started to sweat. I was shaking non stop and had to shut my eyes to keep myself aware. I counted to twenty and finally settled down. I was dripping with sweat from head to toe and decided to take off my shirt where these purple and blue bruises showed. I was disgusted with myself. I was ugly.

I changed out of my clothes and lied back down on my bed where I shut my eyes and let sleep consume me.

The next morning, I was completely exhausted. My hair was a mess and the bruises on my body seemed to become more uglier. I threw on a pair of mom jeans, a black long sleeve turtle neck, and paired it off with my favorite black platform block heels. I layered my necklaces and placed on a couple of rings and left my room. When I had reached downstairs, I was met with a disgusting smell of throw up.

My father was lying in his own pool of vomit while my mother was nowhere to be found. I'm pretty sure she left early in the morning to do whatever she wanted or needed to do. I had no say, whatsoever.

I quickly stepped over my father and rushed out of the house before he could even wake up. I was walking down the road when a car honked at me. The black SUV pulled up beside me and rolled the windows down.

Myles stared back at me, an evil smirk playing on his lips.