"Crap....."
I was supposed to be home two hours ago. Dad is going to kill me. And I can promise you he won't listen to my excuse either. Why would he? He's usually too drunk to care anyway. If there's anything my dad cares about, it's booze.
But, I have a good excuse for getting home late today. Well, kinda. I turned in my semester project late for my English class, so I ended up getting detention. Detention made me miss my bus, forcing me to walk the five miles back home. The reason I turned my project in late was because the other night, my dad had had eight beers too many and ended up barging into my room, dragging me off of my bed, down our one flight of stairs, and then kicking me powerfully in the stomach and punching me in my face until I tasted blood. That was his worst night yet, and I'm positive he had gotten a horrid hangover the next morning.
*FLASHBACK*
I hear the front door shut forcefully downstairs. Great.... Dad's home.
"Ariel!" I hear my dad shouting from the bottom of the stairs. It was then that I swiftly got out of my uncomfortable full-size bed to shut and lock my door. I heard heavy stomping on the stairs signaling HE was on his way up to my room.
I hurriedly hop back onto my bed, throw the covers over my body, and shield my face with my hands to prepare for what's coming for me.
Suddenly, there is a pounding on my door.
"Ariel! Get your filthy ass out here NOW!!"
I start to tear up. I don't want to get punished, especially not tonight. I have too much homework I won't have time to clean up the mess he leaves me in when he's finished with me. No doubt in my mind I'll be a bloody disaster. Literally.
"ARIEL!! I SAID OPEN THE DAMN DOOR NOW!" he bellows. I bet his veins are popping out of his neck from yelling so loud. Please, just please let this be a nightmare. I pinch myself in attempt to wake up, but it's no use.
I suddenly hear a loud and booming noise. Oh dear God... I think he broke down the door. I start to sob into my hands, and as my tears stream in little rivers down my face, I feel him rip off the covers from my mattress, grab me by my left ankle, and drag me out of my place on the bed. As he pulls me, my head makes a loud thump on the carpeted floor and he continues to drag my squirming body out of my once protective room. I'm scared. Am I going to die? Please Lord don't let this be my last night. I can smell the booze on my dad's breath all the way from the floor as he growls and yells at me for disobeying his orders.
We eventually make it to the staircase. He runs down the steps one by one, probably in attempt to give me a concussion or worse. Finally, we make it to the bottom, and as my head hits the tile floor, I see stars.
He continues to drag me along until we make it to the living room. Only then did he release my leg leaving me limp on the floor. I'm so dizzy and weak from my head hitting each individual step that I don't notice Dad yelling at me. He decides to quit yelling and just start kicking me in the ribs instead. With each strong kick I let out a grunt and a sob. He gets down on his knees after what seems like forever, picking me up by the collar of my worn out t-shirt, and punching me in the face. Hard.
"You are so worthless! You're such a piece of trash!! How can you even live with your filthy self?!" He screams in my ears making them ring. He punches me in the face again, right in the nose, which ends up making a loud cracking sound. Blood gushes from my nostrils and straight into my mouth as pain runs through my entire body. He slaps me across my right cheek a few times which leaves traces of blood on his fingers. I scream at the pain.
He lets go of my shirt allowing me to fall back to the floor once again whilst he wipes his bloody hands on his jeans. He then mumbles:
"Rotten piece of shit....."
I don't dare say anything back to him. That would make him replay what he just did to me. Thank you, but I would raher not be paralyzed from the neck, down... So, I simply ask:
"C-can I p-please just g-go back to m-my room?" I cry out, tears still making their way out of my most likely bloodshot eyes.
"Whatever." He says back. He snatches up my right arm lifting me up and then supporting me on my wobbly feet. He then gets right in my face, "You're lucky I don't feel like killing you." The smell of his breath is absolutely horrible. The smell of pure alcohol still fresh in his mouth. I scrunch up my nose, making pain shoot through my face from my broken nose, and then I nod thinking I actually was lucky he didn't kill me.
He pushes me away from him, making me trip over my unsteady feet.
"GET THE HELL UP!" He shouts at me.
I do as he says and slowly make my way up the stairs hoping I don't fall down again. Once I make it to my room I can't shut the door so I weakly crawl into the comfort of my bed and cry myself to sleep.
*END OF FLASHBACK*
I bllink rapidly trying to rid myself of the memory. That happened three days ago, and I now have dark black and blue bruises of where I was punched and kicked. Of course I cover up the sore spots with make-up, but you can still faintly see them. I have a small cut on my right cheek from when he slapped me repeatedly, there was a thin scab covering it now. I've been asked what happened by teachers at school, but I just say I fell down the stairs at home. I'm quite the clutz so it's very believable.
I'm about a block away from my house now, and I'm so nervous I feel as though at any second my knees could buckle underneath me, sending me to faceplant into the sidewalk.
As I walk up the driveway, I think of a plan whilst running my fingers nervously through my long dark brown hair. None of my ideas are very good considering Dad watches my every move once I walk through the door and causiously make my way up to my room. So, when I walk through the door, I nearly faint when I see him in the lounging on the old recliner in the living room watching the telly with crushed beer cans scattered around his feet. I slowly shut the door so it makes a faint *click*, he then turns his full attention to me and a mischievious smirk plays across his lips.
His eyes send daggers through me as he says in a calm yet murderous voice, "You must be asking for it, huh?"
I gulp loudly.
YOU ARE READING
The New Kid Next Door (Harry Styles) [editing]
FanfictionHey there. My name is Ariel Miller, I just turned 18, and I've lived in an abusive environment with my dad for a few years now. It wasn't always like this. But ever since my mum died in a tragic accident, well, my dad changed to say the least. He ta...