Fucking bitch. She knew that dad perved on her and used it to her advantage.
“What did I do now?” I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. My disgust rose in my stomach, a burning churn of acid, at the sight of the bleary-eyed, balding man before me, his white shirt stained and stretching over his beer cut, an inch of flabby, hairy belly exposed thrusting over his jeans.
“This!” he growled, holding up an empty case of Coors, his favorite brand of beer.
“What about it?” I asked.
“There should have been four more beers in here, but there ain’t.”
My eyes flicked to my sister. The twenty-year-old bitch licked her lips, her hazel eyes smirking.
“I didn’t take them,” I protested. The one thing my father cared about was his beer. But how he could remember how many were in a case, I didn’t know.
Drinking held little appeal to me after seeing it transform my father into this piece of shit before me, his breath reeking of that sour drink, his eyes bloodshot. He took a step towards me and threw the cardboard box to the ground. It bounced on the linoleum floor and slid into my feet.
“Don’t lie to me. Your sister told me she saw you sneaking one yesterday.”
That fucking bitch. I glared at Valarie and she had this smile on her lips, this smirk of triumph. Of course she was sneaking beers. She had one of her friends over. That bitch thought she could get away with anything.
And she could. In that tight top and those ass-hugging shorts dad would let her get away with murder so long as she provided a scapegoat for his anger.
“Goddamn, you are such a whore, Valarie,” I snarled at her, my fists balling.
“Don’t call your sister that!” bellowed Dad. “She’s the only one in the family that does her chores. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have any food to eat, you ungrateful little shit.”
“Alison does the shopping,” I growled. “Valarie doesn’t do shit but dress like a tart and—”
Dad’s fist swung. I raised my arms, taking the blow on my shoulder. Pain throbbed as I stumbled back. He had meaty hands, so thick and perfect for battering me. His putrid breath washed over me as he roared his drunken rage at me.
My heart pounded. My skin grew tense as his next blow took me in the stomach. Air whooshed out of my lungs. I folded in half and fell down to my knees, coughing. I felt Valarie’s eyes watching me. That fucking cunt. This was all her fault and—
Dad kicked me.
“Fuck!” I grunted, rolling onto my back as he followed, his heavy steps booming on the linoleum. I felt so small beneath him. A giant loomed over me.
I covered my head, my entire body tensed and—
The blow hit my lower back. Thudding pain rippled through me. I grit my teeth, grunting. I didn’t want to cry out. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I tensed before each blow, took it with a grunt, my heart screaming in my chest, my blood pounding through my veins. A hot rush beat in my ears as he kicked me over and over.
“Fucking!”
KICK!
“Useless!”
KICK!
“Son!”
KICK!
My anger boiled through me as the pain throbbed through my back. I clenched my fists, fingers biting into my palms. My asshole dad grunted over me. He wheezed like a leaky bellows, sucking in breath, exerting himself for once.
“Don’t touch my beer, fucking little shit,” he grunted and stumbled off.
The linoleum felt cool on my cheek, soothing away the burning pain. I groaned, rolling onto my back. Bruises throbbed on my back. I stared up at the ceiling, I hated living here, wanting to escape. To take some control over things. I wanted to have the strength to fight back.
My phone in my pocket dinged. A text message.
“Fuck,” I groaned, every movement made my body throb. Burning ache rippled through my body. I pulled it out and stared at it, frowning.
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“Fuck,” I groaned, my body too sore to even process whatever stupid shit this message meant. Probably pussyhunter69 getting back at me for dropping the game in the middle of a match.
The pain in my back grew. I wanted to lie here, never moving again, but soon the bruises throbbed to much. With a grunt, I forced myself to stand. Sweat dripped down my face as I stood, bracing against the refrigerator’s handle. I pushed off of it and stumbled forward. My dad already snored in his chair, passed out from the exertion of his beating.
My fist clenched. I could just punch him right in the face and…
My stomach twisted, a clammy writhe rippling through me. He’d just beat me again.
I trudged up the stairs and barreled through my door into my room. I collapsed on my bed, lying on my belly. I rested my head on my pillow, trying to ignore the pulsing aches of the bruises on my back. I’d feel this beating for days.
“Fucking Valarie,” I muttered.
The doorbell rang.
I didn’t give a shit.
I just stared at my TV, a rectangular glare from my window shining in the upper right corner. I didn’t have the strength to do anything. Frustrated pain rose through me, stinging my eyes. I squeezed them shut, fighting the emotion wanting to spill out of me. The back of my throat burned. My teeth ground together.
“You got a package,” Alison said.
“What?” I opened my eyes to see my sister walking in through my open door, wearing a pair of jeans and a frilly, pink shirt. She closed it behind her with a push of her sock-clad foot.
“A package,” she said, holding a brown box in it. “I think a drone delivered it. I thought I saw it flying over the Wilson’s house.”
Drone? The text message popped into my mind. But I just didn’t care because I saw what was on the pack: the bright blue ice pack.
Alison set the box on the floor then she scooped off the ice pack and pulled up my t-shirt. She winced, shaking her head, her eyes growing watery. She placed the pack down on one of those pulsing, throbbing centers of hurt on my back.
Ice soothed it away. I groaned at the numbing touch. “Thanks.”
“It makes me so angry that he does that to you,” she said, sitting on the bed beside her. “I know you didn’t steal that beer.”
“Yeah, well, Valarie shook her tits at dad and blamed it all on me,” I groaned.
Alison made a disgruntled sound from her throat.
“You shouldn’t stick around here,” she said. “You have a job. You could find your own place.”
“And who’s going to take his beatings then?” I stared at her. “Valarie shakes her tits, and Livie just has to flutter her eyes and cry like a baby.”