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    Worse. That's the words to describe it. Things had always been bad, but they'd gotten worse. I usually put up with it; all the beatings and name-calling. I knew he was only hurting from the death of my mother, so I let it happen. I know it's wrong, but what more could I do? I tried to be consoling, tried to help, but nothing worked. Eventually, i became immune to the painful slaps and harsh words. They no longer stung as bad, the bruises no longer aching. Though the physical pain was somewhat bearable, the emotional toll it took on me was not. There was fear in every day, every waking moment. Even in my dream, I was plagued by suffering. I had become fragile, just a toy in the mind of an angry man. I was thrown around and broken, cracking the glass of my very structure. And one night, it was just too much for me...

 

"Shae!" I heard him calling my name as he entered the house. I packed my things faster.

"Shae!" he yelled louder, and I zipped my bag shut.

"Shae?" I could now hear the worry in his voice as he began running around the house, searching for me.

"Shae," he threw open my bedroom door. I dropped the coat I was holding, turning to face him.

 

"Hey, Dad," I kept my tone light, giving him a weak smile.

 

"What's going on Shae? Why are your things packed?"

 

I slowly released the breath I'd been holding. I began to speak, using the calmest voice I could manage. "Dad, I...I have to go. You need help."

 

"No, No Shae, please don't go," his voice wavered, "I love you."

 

"I love you, too, but I can't deal with this anymore. You need help, mental help."

 

"No, I can't! They'll take you away from me!"

 

"I'm leaving anyway, Dad. I need help, too--"

 

"No!" he cut me off, "You're not going anywhere! I need you. Your mother left me, I won't have you leaving me, too."

 

"But--"

 

"But nothing!" he shoved me back into my dresser. I scrambled to my feet trying to gain some ground, but to no avail. He grabbed me by the throat, slamming my into the wall whilst his unruly nails pierced my skin.

 

"Dad, I--"

 

"No! You can't do this to me, Shae. You're all that's left of your mother. All that's left of us. You can't leave."

 

"I..." I choked, the pressure of his force crushing my windpipe. I clawed at his hands, my head pounding from lack of oxygen. "Please...l-let go," I begged.

 

A realization flashed through his eyes and he instantly released his grip. "I-I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

 

I rubbed my neck gently. "You always say that."

 

"No, baby, I mean it this time. I promise."

 

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

 

The fire that was previously in his eyes began to reignite. "Don't you be tellin' me what to do."

 

"I'm not. I'm just saying--"

 

"Well stop saying! Why can't you just shut your f*****g mouth for once?" he screams, throwing my things into the floor.

 

"Daddy, please calm down," I plea. He tears apart my curtains and topples my dresser to the floor. He turns to me, and my blood runs cold. Taking me by the hair, he throws me to the ground. "Daddy--"

 

"Shut up," he orders harshly.

 

"Daddy, please," I begin to cry as he hovers over me.

 

"I said shut up!" He kicks my spine, knocking the breath from my lungs. I gasp for air as he closes the distance between us. "Pathetic. A grown lady crying."

 

"Daddy STOP!"

I feel his hand against my cheek, the force so great that hot bursts run through my neck as it's turned to an unusual angle. The pain begins to magnify bit by bit.

 

"D****t, Shae. I warned you not to be imperative with me."

 

I could say nothing as I lay crumpled and useless in the floor, my body limp and heavy. He paced a moment before heading out the front door.

 

"Bye, Dad," I called to him.

 

"Yeah, yeah. Stupid b***h."