Put your hands up for Detroit...I love this city! :P
It was Sunday night and my mom was visiting her parents. I never went with her because they were so senile that they'd ask who I was about twenty-seven times every visit, but that's besides the point. The point is that I was alone.
I was watching MTV, not really paying attention at all--okay you got me: I was thinking about Gerard, specifically the way it felt to sleep with Gerard's arms around me. I'd woken up about 15 times that one night, and every time I'd felt so safe and warm that I'd gone right back to sleep. Anyways--getting slightly off-topic here.
So there was this godawful NSYNC marathon thing on, and I was sitting at the coffee table doing art. Did I mention that I do art? Well, not art per se; I just get a big piece of black paper and start thinking, about anything and everything. Let's say I'm thinking about music. So I'll draw a music note or a guitar or something on the black paper, cut it out, and stick it on another piece of paper--usually pink or red. And then I just keep on going. Once I made this--well, what the fuck. Back to that Sunday night.
So I was sitting there multitasking when the doorbell rang. Call me crazy, but the first thought that came into my mind was, 'Maybe it's Gerard!' I think I tried to fix my hair or something trivial like that, and then I opened the front door.
There stood my father.
As soon as I saw him, I knew nothing had changed with him. His eyes were bloodshot and his clothes and hair were rumpled. A strong gin smell came with him, and his car was parked crookedly in the driveway. I immediately knew he was drunk.
"Verity," he slurred. I bit my tongue, knowing talking only made things worse. "Aren't you gonna ask me in?" I instinctively tightened my grip on the side of the door, but he was a big guy, and he didn't have to push much before the door literally popped open. He stepped over the threshold and I shrank away from him, my back to the wall.
"Where's your mother?" he asked, looking around with his beady eyes that I constantly thank God for not inheriting.
"She's not here," I said simply.
"She's not--?" He chuckled, moving closer. "Now, sweetie, don't lie to me."
My shoulders and back immediately tensed up. "Don't you fucking call me sweetie," I said, although my voice shook. "I don't have to tell you anything. Now get the fuck out." I don't know why I said it--I definitely knew better than to provoke him, but I couldn't stop myself this time.
He looked shocked at first--it was the first time I'd ever stood up to him--but his expression quickly changed to one of rage. He grabbed my shoulders so hard that I let out a little cry.
"Don't you dare disrespect me! Where is she?"
"Fuck you!" I spat. "Get your fucking hands off me!" and then he slammed me against the wall, my head making a hollow thud as it hit it. I was too shocked to move for a few seconds; he'd always been a bastard, but he'd never physically hurt ME--until now.
"Tell me!" he shouted, shaking me until I felt dizzy.
"No!" I yelled back. He let go of me so suddenly that I almost fell over. He looked at me with utter contempt, and then turned to go into the house.
Something clicked in me then. This man was looking for my mother, no doubt to hurt her. No matter that she wasn't here, or that I hardly even spoke to her any more--I wouldn't just let him step over me. I was going to fight.
I stepped in front of him. "I said get out."
He looked at me like I was a cockroack, and I was actually afraid of him. He shoved me to the side like a feather, and I slammed into the wall again. This time my teeth snapped shut on my tongue, drawing blood. I immediately jumped in front of him again, pushing hard against his shoulders.
"Just get out!" I yelled, close to tears.
This time he swung me around and flung me at the open door. Instead I crashed into the door frame, finally falling to the floor. I got up again, my head pounding. Oddly, I remembered the saying about the size of the fight in the dog. Whoever said that had obviously never fought with someone three times their size.
Almost before I had stood up all the way. He pushed me right out the door. I tripped over the step at the base of the door and screamed out as I felt my face tear on the rough cement path.
'Oh God, help me,' I thought, struggling to my feet yet again.
But now he was more interested in 'punishing' me than finding my mom. He stood there, blocking the door, and hit me right across the face. Then he did it again, and I could feel my tooth slice into my lip. I cupped my hand over my mouth as burning tears stung the bleeding cuts on my cheek, but he wasn't finished with me yet.
"I'm your goddamn father!" he yelled. He pushed me again, and I fell to my knees. "Don't you ever--"
But I couldn't hear what he'd said, because he'd hit the side of my head, making my ears ring. And then I ran.
My bare feet were stinging from the cold already, but I kept going. I couldn't stop sobbing. He didn't come after me, and before long my house was out of sight.
I came to a stop on a dark street corner. My heart was jumping around and I was shaking uncontrollably. I tried to calm down, took a few deep breaths, and considered my situation. I briefly thought about going to Gerard and Mikey's place, but their parents were probably home. Besides, I didn't want Gerard to see me like this.
On the other hand, I was only wearing a tank top and my pajama pants, and it was freezing. My cheek killed from the cuts when I'd fallen, and I could feel my bottom lip swelling up already. And aside fromt the fact that I'd probably freeze to death if I stayed out here much longer, I'd been warned pretty strongly about going out after dark--and not by some stupid aduly, by a teenager who definitely knew what was going on. Basically, I was fucked.
I sarted walking, mainly to keep off the cold (which I now know doesn't work at all). Beore I ever knew what was happening, I had no idea where I was. It was at that moment that I noticed a group of extremely suss guys across the street. Oh fuck.
grins and runs away