Lead Me To Your Heart


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2. Reading Causes Pain

I hate it here. Dad just dragged me away from Macy and my mom to this hell hole where I could rot. I feel that Dad now never acknowledges me anymore. It feels like he doesn’t love me anymore. School. The worst part. I still haven’t been, but I’m starting tomorrow so there goes my peaceful time alone. I have been in my room the whole time we have moved and here and have cried myself to sleep every night thinking about Macy. Oh god how I missed her. Oh god, dad is home, I’ll write later.

 

I slammed my diary shut just as I hear my dad slam the door. I quickly shove my diary under my pillow and grab the book that was on my side table. I flipped to the last page I had left off from earlier today and started reading, flopping myself on my stomach and propping myself up on my elbows.

“Hey!” I call. I hear heavy foot step come towards my room. My door opens. I gasp.

“Dad, are you drunk?” I yell, but it comes out in a whisper. “Yes, in fact, get me more vodka,” my dad slurs, his voice getting more demanding towards the end of his sentence.

“I can’t dad, your drunk,” I reply ion a voice barely over a whisper. My dad walks over to me, his figure towering me. He leans close to my face. I flinch as he breathes, the stench of alcohol strong. I was telling myself to move, but my body didn’t, responding in only shakes from fear.

“Lyka, get me my vodka.” My dad says in a voice that chilled my bones. “Your-your drunk, I can’t” I say almost immediately, regretting it right after. I felt a burning sensation on my cheek where my dad had slapped me across my face; probably turning it red.

I gasped in pain. “Now, get me vodka!” my dad roared. This time, I rushed out of my room in a hurry. I ran right to the kitchen and opened the cabinet where I knew the few bottles of alcohol we owned were.

I opened the cupboard and grabbed the bottle of vodka; it was almost empty. I fearfully made my way back up stairs to my room where my dad was last. When I got there he was reading my diary.

I hesitatingly approach him. “Dad, here’s your drink,” I say. My dad looks up. He closes my diary slowly and hands it to me. “Do you really think of me like that Lyka?” he asks. I didn’t know how to respond.

I stayed silent. “Do you really feel that I pulled you out here to London where you cry yourself to sleep every night?” He asks, his voice raising in anger every word. I cringe as he speaks.

He snatches the bottle from my hands and unscrews the top; flicking it carelessly to the ground. He raised the alcohol to his lips and drains it. When he was finished he dropped the bottle and sighed heavily.

“D-Dad?” I ask after about five minutes of silence, stuttering. My dad turns to me. His eyes were blazing in anger. What was wrong?

He raises his arm; my guess is to slap me. As quick as I could, I raised my arms in front of my face for protection. His left arm catches my arms and he raises his right arm.

Pain instantly seared through m cheek as my father struck me over and over. I felt my eyes start to tear up. After a minute, I realized he had stopped. I didn’t dare to open my eyes.

“If you really feel that way then- then I shouldn’t even love you. You aren’t my daughter any more. You will never be.” He spat and slapped me again. He released my arms, causing me to slump to the floor. A tear rolled down my cheek as I hear his pounding footsteps leave my room.

My cheek felt raw. My head ached in pain. And worst of all, my heart was completely broken.

I curl into a ball, hugging my knees as close as I could to my chest and put my head down; letting the tears pour. What was the point in trying to be strong any more?

*****

How is it so far? What do you think will happen next? Please comment your answers:) Please remember to like, comment, read on and fan me:) Thanks loves:) Xx

 

 

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