I know better.
I don’t want him to hurt me the way he does when his words are slow. The door slams, and I know Mommy must have left again.
Oh, no. He gets even angrier when she leaves.
Daddy’s footsteps are approaching my room, so I quickly hide my new dolls under the bed. He doesn’t allow me to have toys, and I know if he finds me with these, it’ll be worse.
I rub my side, still feeling sore from the last time she left. Looking down at the rip in my shirt, I poke my finger through it to feel through the other side. I lift the pink t-shirt up to look at my skin and see the colors purple and yellow, so I know I have more time before they’re gone.
Maybe Daddy will choose to color the other side of my ribs this time. I can try and ask him to go easy on me, maybe, but I know he doesn’t like my questions. The footsteps stop. Maybe he doesn’t want me now?
I tiptoe towards the door, and it flies open, just missing me. I lower my head, gripping the bottom of my shirt to pull it down, hoping he’ll leave me alone. He’s silent, so I peek up at him and see him staring at me like I did something wrong.
I wish I knew what it was.
I attempt a smile. I’ve seen some adults smile back when kids do this. Maybe he’ll realize I don’t mean to always make him angry.
I heard Maggie Turner on the bus, talking about how her dad plays dolls and even has tea parties with her. I don’t even like tea parties. I just want Daddy to smile at me like her daddy does when he picks her up from school.
I smile a bit wider, thinking it’s working since he hasn’t moved yet. But I’m wrong.
“Something funny?”
My smile falls as I straighten my back. “No, D-D- Daddy, I thought I’d--” I feel my head hit the floor before I realize he’s shoved me. The room spins a little, my ears have a ringing sound in them, and there’s a pain in the back of my head. I curl into a ball on my right side to protect the fading colors on it. I know what’s coming.
His voice is low and scary. “Did I say you can speak?” I feel his big sneaker kick my tummy, making me choke.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, I--” He kicks me again, my coughs burning my throat. It hurts.
“Again! Did I say you can speak?!” I shake my head hidden behind my arms, quiet, hoping he gets it over with quickly. “You do nothing but create problems in my life. You’re fucking useless.” His breath is over me, and it smells like his special “soda” and smoke. “I never should’ve made the mistake of sticking it inside your mother.”
What does that mean? His hands wrap around my ankles as he drags me out of my room.
No, no, no, please. Why can’t we stay here?
I don’t want to go with him, so I grip the door frame to stop him from dragging me. Daddy drops my legs and steps on my thighs with one sneaker, his full weight on me as he holds the wall, kicking the hand I have wrapped around the frame with his other shoe. I let go, crying out, and he grabs my ankles again to drag me.
I feel the burning on my back from the rug underneath me as he pulls.
“Daddy, please. I’ll be good!” I beg him to give me a break. He stops right before we reach the living room and picks me up by my shirt, my feet dangling in front of him. Slapping me hard on my cheek, I beg him. “Daddy, no! Not my face! Remember the last time!” reminding him of when he made this mistake, and my teacher Miss Crane called him about it. He has to be more careful.
“You don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do! I’m the parent, goddamn it!” My feet meet the floor as he grips my cheeks hard in his hand, the yucky smoke smell from his fingers even stronger now.
Daddy squeezes my face so hard between his fingers, I feel his dirty nails pinching my skin.
Wetness forms in my eyes and one tear escapes down my cheek, landing on his fingers. He looks at it like he just touched something gross, shoving me off him, my back hitting the coffee table.
I look down, the tears wetting my face now. I bet Maggie’s dad doesn’t do this to her.
“You crying now, you little shit?” He grabs my arm and pulls me towards the couch, but I don’t put up a fight anymore. There’s no point.
Daddy pushes me onto the couch, and I land on my belly. I see all his soda cans thrown on the floor and on the coffee table.
The couch dips, and I close my eyes tight. I don’t wanna see. The smell of smoke surrounds me, a cloud of it covering my face. I cough hard, trying to breathe through it.
“Be quiet!!” He strikes me from behind with the back of his hand, and I jump from the sharp pain, then quietly cry into the back of the couch. “You crying, again?!” Daddy lifts the back of my shirt all the way up until the bottom goes over my head like a hood. I try again to escape, but his legs are heavy on top of me. “Stop being a little fucking crybaby.”
I feel tiny flecks hit my skin, so I turn my head and peek through at the mirror, watching as Daddy flicks the grey stuff on me from the stick he puffs on
