Lead Me To Your Heart


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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