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I can smell the whiskey on his breath from here, see the anger vibrating through his body. It’s always the same. He gets drunk, he loses money, he takes it out on me. It’s a vicious cycle. Every night, I expect it to be different, and every night, it’s the same.
If you’ve never had a parent let you down, hurt you, and break your heart, then you don’t know how it feels. They’re supposed to protect you, love you, yet my parents are the reason I’m scared. I learned from a young age that they’re the ones who hurt me, no one else. They don’t care if I live or die, I’m just an object to them.
To vent to, to take for granted.
When I watch other kids at school talking about their parents, I get angry, the same anger my daddy has. I hate them for it, for being happy. For enjoying their life. Their parents love them, treasure them, shower them with gifts and happiness. Why can’t I have that?
Yet even if my dad or mum ever tried to, I would flinch, expecting the punch that would come right after it. Because the truth is, I know at the base of all people, at their very core…all they care about is themselves. What something can bring them, do for them, and when push comes to shove, they will always choose themselves.
Some people are born with a rage, a need to hurt.
Some are born greedy, an addictive personality. Others hide it well, but in the end, we’re all the same. We all bleed the same colour, and we are all just searching for something to make the truth of our souls disappear so we feel like good people.
I’m not fooling him, he knows I’m awake, so I sit up and face him. I refuse to cry, I refuse to beg. Not anymore. I did once, and I thought he might actually stop. I know better now. He won’t stop until he kills me one day, but until then, I’m just surviving from one day to the next with that truth hanging over me.
“Get up,” he slurs. I purse my lips, but do as I’m told, knowing that will get this over more quickly.
But every time this happens, something grows inside me, that anger morphing until I have to bite my tongue to stop from hitting back, from lashing out. I refuse to be like him.
He stumbles my way, swearing when he almost falls over. “I lost two thousand tonight, you know whose fault that is?” he yells.
I should say nothing, just nod and take the hit like a good girl.
But maybe I’m not a good girl, maybe I’m just as messed up as he is. “I’m guessing mine,” I drawl.
Dumb, real dumb.
For a drunk man, the punch comes fast, he’s big, and it shows in the power behind his fists. It smacks into my gut, bending me over as I struggle to breathe. My stomach aches even more now than just hunger pains.
He grabs my hair, making me cry out as he jerks up my head. His crooked teeth flash in the dark, his face blurry from my tears. He snarls at me, his rancid breath wafting into my face and making me gag. “Yours, you fucking little shit.”
I’m so busy trying not to vomit—the last time I did, he broke my arm—that I don’t see it coming. He throws me into the wall, and my head hits it with a sickening thud. My body goes limp as I slide down it, pain fracturing through my skull until I can’t see.
I can’t hear.
Then it all goes dark.
Gasping, I jerk upright. Sweat covers my entire body as adrenaline rushes through me. I lift my hand and press it to the back of my head where the dent still rests from that night. Fuck, that’s why I drink before bed, to keep the nightmares away.
Blowing out a breath, I blink my blurry eyes to clear the sleep from them, knowing I won’t be going back anytime soon. Not with my memories so dark tonight. Instead, I stare out at the city, it’s still bright. All the light illuminating its angles and streets, even in the dark. Like a beacon.
Another lie.
That’s when a wispy, dark voice comes from behind me, sending fear surging through me.
I’m not alone.
“Can’t sleep, Little Bird? I wonder what you dream of…”
Chapter Nine
DIESEL
She’s having a bad dream, I can tell. Her limbs are jolting like she’s trying to escape someone. Whimpers leave her lips, which does something strange to my brain. Just as I’m about to reach for her, she jerks away, breathing heavily. Sitting up abruptly, she places her hand on her racing heart, and it’s so loud I can hear it.
I wonder if it would pound harder if she knew I was behind her? Reaching out, I brush my hand gently along her hair, so softly she doesn’t feel it. Such a small, little creature, yet it houses such pain…such anger.
“Can’t sleep, Little Bird? I wonder what you dream of,” I murmur behind her.
