Silent Lies - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

As I walk home, I sigh. It's only Tuesday, I'm both annoyed at that but grateful. School is annoying and tiring, but it also gets me away from dad so I'm grateful for it.
My feet are so sore from always walking home. It's a thirty-forty minute walk which isn't that long, but from what dad does, it makes the walks painful at times. I have less than five minutes of the walk left, so I slow down and prepare myself for dad, avoiding him for as much longer as I can.
I wish I wouldn't want to avoid my own dad, it's quite sad. I wish I could be happy to go home and see him, tell him about my day, have him help with the homework I don't understand while he makes my favorite snack. I just wish it could be like that again.
Why would I avoid my dad? Hmm. Lots of people love their dads and are their best friends, me and my dad are the complete opposite. We hate each other, well I don't ever show it, he sure does though. I don't know, maybe I don't hate him, but with how much he hurts me I should. But I still somehow hope the old version of him is somewhere deep down in him even after all these years.
The old version of him being my best friend, an actual dad. He used to want to hurt anyone who caused me pain, but now he is the one who causes me pain. Every single day. I'd do anything just to have him read me a bedtime story one more time and tuck me in bed, he hasn't done that in years.
I'm jealous as I walk by neighbors houses, seeing kids running around and having fun, their only worries being to get their homework done. I wish that could be my only worry. So many kids complain about homework, but I enjoy it even if I'm not the brightest person and never do well. It distracts me from reality, gives me something to do.
I hate how my worries all lead back to dad. Worry about him hurting me, worry about messing up and him using it as an excuse to hurt me, worry if he's drunk, worry about not making him food good enough, worry this worry that. It always leads back to dad.
Sometimes I wonder why I still even call him dad, but again it's probably the hope of the old him still being somewhere within him. He has to be there somewhere. Me and Hadley, my sister, just woke up one day and he was completely different from how he used to be.
Like he just completely flipped a switch. He turned off the light, becoming dark.
I groan seeing the house come into view, mentally and physically preparing myself for whatever he'll do today. As I walk in he's sitting on the couch, beer bottle in hand. Here goes the worrying, it's always worse when he's drunk.
But he's been drunk a lot lately. He never did used to drink, even when he seemed to flip a switch. But for the last year he has been.
"Where the hell were you?" Well, let me think, the only place you allow me to go, school. I wish I could say that outloud but I would regret it greatly. Even if I did really want to say it I couldn't, I don't talk. I can talk, but the words can never leave my mouth. I haven't talked in years and in a way, it's so much easier. My mouth would get me into plenty of trouble I'm sure.
"Still not talking, hmm?" Clearly. I don't get either why he still asks this stupid question after all these years. "Fucking attention seeker." Sure am, not. The less attention I get the better, easier to hide what happens.
I close my eyes, whatever smartassness leaving me and being taken over by fear when he stands and grips my chin. I open my eyes for a second, he's staring down at me with disgust, like I'm the nastiest person he's ever seen.
I wince when his knee meets my stomach, knocking the air out of me as I fall to my knees, tears building up but I do my best to not let him see me cry-it only ever encourages him to do more. He enjoys seeing me in pain. The bruises on my stomach and ribs never heal properly because he doesn't ever at least give me time to heal, because he doesn't care.
Why would he care? It's not like he's my dad and should or anything.
"Get out of my sight and make me dinner, bitch." I roll my eyes at the name when he looks away. I wait a few seconds, the limit before he kicks me again, to catch my breath and attempt to pull myself together.
I don't even take my backpack upstairs to my room, just go to the kitchen and throw something together for him and hope it's good enough. I grip the refrigerator door handle as I grab a water, the pain getting to me. I pull myself together the best I can for the second time tonight, setting his dinner on the table and rushing to my room to lock myself away from him.
I'm thankful for the bathroom connected to my room, I really can lock myself in my room away from him, and won't have to leave at all in the night. I drop my backpack on the bed, taking off my hoodie. I grab some clothes from the closet to take a shower despite being in pain, it'll make me feel a little better at least.
I take my clothes off, my eyes going to the mirror and seeing my body. Bruises all over my stomach and ribs, just a few on my arms, he doesn't want people knowing what he does so he hurts me where people won't see, and some on my legs. Scars along my arms, not from dad but from myself. It's been two weeks since I last relapsed, nearly the longest I've ever gone.
I'm proud of myself. I really am.
After the shower I lay in bed for a while, letting my body relax, it needs to. I grab my backpack and take out any homework I have from school to do, to give me something to do. I check my phone, just one text on messenger from Divine, asking how I am.
We go through basic conversation but end up doing homework for english together. We have no classes together unfortunately, but we have the same teacher for English so we usually help each other out. We send pictures back and forth to each other with answers. I know it'd be easier to call, but again, I don't talk.
Divine's always wondered what happened to make me stop talking, we've known each other since we were like five years old. She may think it was because of Hadley, she committed suicide when I was twelve, Hadley was fifteen, that's about when I stopped talking. I think that could be the reason she hasn't straight up asked me why I stopped talking. I'm thankful she doesn't ask.
Not talking has helped a lot to hide what dad does, or I'd probably slip it out what he does. I worry that Divine catches on sometimes though, but I'm mostly sure she's oblivious to it all, which is good. If I somehow manage to live past graduation, and move out as soon as I can, I might open up to her and tell her everything since I'll be away from the sperm donor downstairs.
When we're done with homework she says she has to go for dinner, we say goodnight to each other and all that. I put everything for school back in my bag and put my phone on the charger. I wince when I lay down, the bruises on my stomach and ribs burning.
I stare up at the ceiling, wondering why dad was so easy on me today with just a kick to the stomach, especially when he was already drinking. In a way I'm thankful, but also terrified he's letting any anger build up and will take it all out on me at once, that's the worst-speaking from experience.
I grab the book from my backpack that I got at the school library that I've been reading, having nothing else to do.
I get tired after an hour, putting the book up. It's only seven now, really early to sleep but if I sleep earlier, the earlier I might wake up. I haven't eaten today, and all I had yesterday was grapes Divine gave me. She notices how little I eat at school, so she's always giving me something even when I tell her not to.
If I get up early enough I may be able to sneak some food from the kitchen. To add on to how horrible dad is, he rarely gives me anything to eat and if he sees me taking from the kitchen, there goes a kick to the stomach.
God I love my life, it's so amazing.
I set my alarm so I at least wake up early enough to make it to school, and close my eyes to sleep, attempting to ignore the pain that surges through my body.