Chapter Three: Strong

I looked at my watch, fifteen minutes until the library closed. I finished the last few pages of the book and put it back on the shelf. It was time to face reality. I enjoyed those hours in a book by myself and no one to hold you up from a different world.

As I drove slowly through the dark, I wondered if Travis would be mad if I stopped by. I flinched when I thought of his reaction. I kind of wanted to delete him out of my mind. Times like this made me realize I needed someone to talk to, someone to explain what had happened late last night. My mother would have been distraught that I went missing but she would have encouraged me to see the boy again. Ashley would have been excited and found it romantic. Now my father would probably call me unnecessary names.

I noticed Thomas still wasn’t home when I pulled up, I would have seen the television flicker with static. The house was trashed and smelled like sour milk. I knew I’d be cleaning up the pigsty. I started screwing the cabinets back up if they weren’t badly done. There were some that were smashed or split in half; I didn’t bother with them. The counters were covered in cigarette marks and dried up alcohol. I wanted to cry when I saw vomit in the sink.

Thirty minutes passed as I huffed of exhaustion plopping on a chair. I started to drift as my head nodded back when a car door slammed. The porch creaked and the door swung open. I knew it was him. I could feel his eyes burning a hole into my back.

“What does it take to get some damn food around here?” He protested as he kicked off his boots and sat at the table. I stared at him in disgust.

“You were gone for a whole day and you expect food?” I rolled my eyes as I got up toward the sink. “You never eat to begin with.”

“Well, you are a woman. You should have my food ready, if I’m starved or not.” He had that same smirk that scared my mother before he snapped. It didn’t scare me.

“You can make whatever you want, Thomas.” I threw the scrub pad I used in the trash and put the dishes I washed away.

With a hard laugh he said, “I am your father. You don’t talk to me like that.”

“Last time I checked, you were just a sperm donor. You are hardly a father to me, never were.” I said in a calm, collected voice.

He growled under his breath and stood up striding toward me in a quick pace. His face met with mine as I stood without a flinch, eyeing him. I waited for the next blow to my head or pulling of my hair across the floor. Instead, he just glared with his hands balled into fists tightly. He must have sobered up but I could still smell a hint of beer on his breath.

“My mother raised me to learn if I don’t get the respect I deserve from someone, then I don’t respect them.” I said. There it was the blow to the head I was waiting for. I was knocked to the floor, catching myself on the palms of my hands. Before I could sit back up, he knocked me back down when his steel toed boot met my hip. I hunched over to the side wrapping my arm around myself.

He was laughing until tears welled up in his brown eyes. It wasn’t enough I thought as I felt his leather belt whip into my back. I tried so hard to fight the tears. I didn’t want him to know he had done his job hurting me. Instead I encourage it; he grabbed the ends of my hair and pulled me up to look him in the face.

“You listen to me good, missy.” He started with a temper. “I am the man of the house. I pay the bills. I make sure your ass gets fed. I am the reason you are still in school.”

“No you are not. Mom is the reason I am still in school. She paid it all off when I turned fifteen.” I said with humor in my voice. “She is the reason I am getting fed.” The reason I was wealthy was documented in her life insurance she got behind Thomas’ back when I was born. A good forty thousand was stowed away for college, if I ever get out alive. He threw me back down on the floor and my face smacked against the hardwood. I held my hand to my nose catching the blood.

“You better shape up. I’ll send your ass to military school with a hell of a story.” He laughed.

“That’ll be the best thing you have ever done for me.” I muffled.

I followed the sound of his footsteps as he disappeared to his room and I got up slowly and grabbed a wash cloth for ice. Holding the ice to my nose, I sat at the table trying hard to stay strong. I wanted to cry but I’ve always been known for holding my head up. I literally held it up for the blood to stop.

After two hours of sitting and staring into space, I got up wincing and kneeling over in pain. My face was sore from the fall and my side was pulsing. I knew I was going to have a big bruise across my nose tomorrow morning. I wasn’t expecting this amount of pain or number of blows I put my body through. I suppose since I’m older, he feels the need to be more extreme.

I thought about packing everything I owned and leaving—but to where? I wanted to call Ashley to come get me but it would be hours before she got here. Then I figured I could drive myself but the truck probably won’t make it. It was all irrational thinking and a sudden jolt of adrenaline. Whatever he does to me makes me stronger. I could never back down. Never will but I just wanted out of this life.

I wasn’t ready to go to bed, not even tired. I flipped through the channels of our nineties television. The pictures were horribly fuzzy and we only had fifteen channels. I figured we were the only modern day family out of date. I gave up and shut it off.

I moved quietly up the steps to my room, I felt like I was crawling. I sat on the edge of my bed and heard Thomas snoring as if this was the best sleep he ever experienced. I rolled my eyes, kicking the door closed. The door slammed abruptly; but, he kept snoring. I would get antsy and move around my room numerous of times. I stared at the cracks in the hardwood of the floor and wondered what I could do to fix them. Then moving to my closet, I started to go through clothes I didn’t wear and put them behind the ones I wore. Only some of my good t-shirts, which included rock band shirts, and a few old out-of-style, yet comfortable jeans made the cut. I found myself pacing the floor for more to do. There were a couple of flurries floating around outside my window. Winter must be starting early. I looked back at my clock as the red digits flipped to two o’clock in the morning. I got wildly caught up in my obsession to organize and nitpick. I tried to figure out what the date was but I lost track of my days. Looking at the calendar, I noticed November 25th circled. Oh joy.

I usually went to the soup kitchen at the church but I couldn’t go looking beat up. I knew I’d be too tired anyway.

Every year my mother and I went to the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving. It felt good to serve those in need and watch them smile. I knew I came from a needy family even if we looked normal; but, it was entirely different. They smelled and wore clothes with holes and shoes that were flapping. I couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy toward those without families. My father never realized we would take his clothes and give them freely to the homeless.

I’m sure the church would understand if I missed a year.