Just hearing her name being yelled out. She jumped out of bed, this is terrible. It’s too early in the morning to always be pissed off.
Looking at the clock, it was 8:30. Figures why he’s mad. Breakfast is usually ready at 7 before he goes to work at 9.
I slowly crept down the stairs into the living room, and I hear him slamming cabinets. Looking for god knows what. I quickly prepare myself for the worst.
Heading into the kitchen, my dad looked back when he heard the sound of the door.
“Amanda, where is my food?” I look up explaining what happened “I’m sorry father, I woke up late.” he paced and paced pulling his gray hair like he usually does when he was mad.
Suddenly, my head snapped sideways, nearly throwing me across the room. “Amanda, get your fat ass up, and make me something now” he yelled. I scrambled to my feet. Grabbing one chair from the dinner table to stable myself. I got the ingredients to make pancakes. Whipping them up together, I cooked them as my father likes them. With eggs that are sunny side up. I grab a take out Styrofoam plate from the pantry and place the pancakes, and eggs in there so he can eat them on the road or in his office. I walk towards him holding the plate while He’s putting on his coat and shoes. He grabs the plate, walks to the door, opens it, and slams it behind him. The pictures on the wall rattle from the force. I can hear his truck leave the driveway, and I release a sigh of relief.
I don’t understand why he’s like this. Sometimes I think I deserve it.
I clean to take my mind off things
Ten hours of cleaning the whole house.
I looked outside “Shit”
I didn’t realize it’s getting dark outside. I rush to the kitchen. Banging my toe. “Fuck” that shit hurts like a bitch. I have no time to recuperate knowing he will be home in forty minutes. I get the pans out and start making the eggs, bacon, and toast. I walk to the cabinet beside the sink and stove to get a glass cup and pour some orange juice in it. I set everything on the table for him. Knowing my father should be here any second now. I hear a car door slam and two minutes later the door rattles and opens. My father enters the house with his business suit and briefcase. It’s strange since he never brings his briefcase home.
He takes his jacket, and shoes off, and sets his briefcase on the floor beside his shoes. He walks to the dining room table and plops himself at the table in front of his food. I approach the table where he sat and spoke: “Father, I made you eggs, bacon, and toast, I hope you like it”. He ate a fork full and swallowed. He looks at me and throws the plate on the floor. “What is this shit?”
“What?” I said, still replaying the unexpected change in events in my head.
“I said what is this shit, Amanda?” He said in a calm, slow tone. Slowly standing up with each word.
“Eggs, Toast, and Bacon. What’s the matter with it?”
I look up and see him pacing. Mumbling incompetent words to himself. Suddenly, he stops and looks at me in a trance and takes long strides towards me. My natural reaction, I take three steps back. He leaps and grabs me. Slamming me to the floor. Hitting me repeatedly. Punching me in the face, and kicking me in the stomach. It felt like hours until he stopped. He looked down at me, turned around, stomped upstairs to his room, and slammed the door.
I pick myself up off the floor. Feeling dizzy with each movement I make. I sit on the kitchen chair until the spinning stopped. Finally, able to stand up without nausea. I clean up the mess he made. That took an hour. The scattered food took the longest to collect and throw away. The floor had to be swept as well. After all that; I was done. I turned off the light in the kitchen and climbed upstairs with caution. My father’s room is across from mine, so I have to be silent. I hear my father’s snores confirming he is asleep, so I go to my room and shut the door quietly.
My room isn’t that big. I may be abused, but I am thankful I have a mattress to sleep on. My room has a mattress in the corner, a dresser pushed to the wall, and I have a light stand by my mattress.
I go into my bathroom, which comprises a bathtub with a dirty seashell shower curtain, a toilet in the corner, and a rusty one person sink with a mirror with shelves engraved.
I open my bathroom cabinet and get the first aid kit, and I look at my reflection. My face is black and blue and it doesn’t match with my brunette hair and brown eyes. I wouldn’t say that I’m big, but I am average size. I have always wished that I was someone else, but that is an impossible wish, a single wish that won’t and can’t come true. It would be amazing to get a break from this, or for it to end altogether. The sad thing is that I used to have a smile once, but I’ve been stuck with a frown recently. The smile I once had has been gone for years. I can’t remember when my last smile was. I look down and clean up my wounds. Then I hop in the bathtub, turn on the water, and get in. I clean all the blood off my body and think.
All this blood going down the drain makes me dizzy. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I have to get out of here soon.
I turn off the water. Reaching for the towel while staying behind the curtain. I’m grabbing nothing but air. I push the curtain back and see that I didn’t put a towel there. “Fuck ” silently cursing for not getting a towel. I open the bathroom door only to see my father standing there. I blinked twice, and he vanished. I hurried to my dresser, and I pulled on my pink PJ set and maneuvered to my mattress. I pulled back the sheet and hopped in, grabbing a picture of my brother.
I prayed. I prayed to the god that never answers my prayers. I begged, pleaded to see my brother. Knowing my prayers won’t be answered. I drifted to sleep entering the only thing that gives me peace.