Chapter 4

I was scared, yet deep down inside of me I knew that it would all work out. Although, even with my hopes up, it probably wouldn't.

“You can do it.” Gabe encouraged. I knew I could. But could I take it afterward? That was the question.

I sighed. “I know I can. I can do it. I can do it.” I said a silent pray to myself,

“Lord, if I don't make it out of this situation alive, please remind Gabe to feed the cat.”

Gabe quietly laughed but then frowned. “You should better go.”

I nodded and stepped a foot onto the wooden plank. 

“Easy...” Gabe clinched his duvet covers.

Taking one step at a time, I got closer and closer to the window. Gabe was still in freight that I would fall, but hey, my mother signed me up for junior gymnastics when I was three years old!

Finally, I made it to my bedroom with a huge sigh of satisfaction just as I heard loud stomping up the stairs, loud enough so that Gabe could hear. He reeled in the white closet door from my window and bit his lip. 

I quickly closed the window nice and tight and found an old book lying on the floor near my bed. 

“Annabel!” Phil yelled taking the last step. The door creaked open as the drunk man came into my room. He threw his full bottle of Bud Light onto the hardwood floor and crouched over me, still pretending to read, "Where the Red Fern Grows." 

"Now, kid. I know what you did. There's going to be serious consequences for this!” Phil's rough hands where around my neck in a strangling position with a baseball bat shoved into his belt loop.

I still acted like I didn't know what was happening as I continued "reading." Besides, all a drunk guy can ask for anyway is for his daughter to go along with the program so that he can beat the hell out of her.

Phil pulled his bat out of his belt loop, tore my book out of my hands, and stretched out my arm.

I pursed my lips and squeezed my eyes shut full of anxiety of what was going to happen. But just then, a thought came to mind. Why did I need an old grumpy drunk guy, my “dad”, to boss me around! All he does is sit on his a*s and watch T.V, just waiting for me to get into trouble. It's all apart of his mischievous little plan. That idiot.

Just as Phil was about to beat my arm with the baseball bat, I swiped it out of his hands and banged his head with it. He fell to the ground grasping his head that was bursting with blood. I was guessing he had a concussion, so I dropped the metal bat next to the broken glass that had been from the beer bottle and stepped on his stomach in victory. Revenge never felt so good.

 

Gabe and I brought Phil to the hospital (not that I cared about Phil, but it was just an easy excuse to get him out of the house), telling the nurse that he got hit in the head with a football. Gabe was actually the better lier than I was, even though he never practiced it because he was so perfect and never had to lie about anything. The nurse believed him, so, Phil would be gone for two nights.

Gabe helped me sweep up the glass in my room, along with spraying everything with his Fresh Linens scent of Febreze all over to cover up the smell, and scrubbed the floors. I needed someone to encourage me to clean, like Gabe, not someone to tell me to do it knowing that I'd get hurt even if I did, like Phil.

“Bye Gabe! Thanks for your help,” I said as we were at my front door. It was about midnight by now, and because of the full day, I was tired.

“See you,” He waved and walked to his house.

I quietly shut the door behind me and walked to the kitchen. That was a great time to get stuffed with food before Phil came back. I took out a pan and poured water in it- spaghetti was what I was craving for. 

As the water was boiling and the noodles were cooking, I thought it would be a good time to get caught up on some homework. West Middle School gave so much homework each day it was easy to get behind on it all. We started school last week Monday, and didn't start again until tomorrow because of Labor Day weekend.

The noodles finished cooking as the smell of Hunts Tomato Sauce was filling the room. I mixed it all together and poured a glass of milk. The steam rose and sprinkled mist onto my face, but I didn't care because the taste and the heat of the noodles was delicious to my senses. 

After I finished my food and cleaned up, I went upstairs, threw on a pair of old sweatpants and a grubby t-shirt, and plopped on my bed. Next to it was my alarm clock. 12:30, it said in bold red digital letters. 

Too tired to think, I flicked the lights off near the door, curled up into a tight ball with my arms wrapped around my knees, and closed my eyes. 

As soon as ten seconds, I drifted into a deep sleep in peace. That night never felt so good.