Don't Give Up

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

                The sound of glass shattering woke me up.

                I jolted up from my bed, listening carefully, as another crash came from the kitchen. Getting out of my covers, I opened my door. I tiptoed to the kitchen, where the light was coming from.

                Another crash.

                I peeked from behind the wall, feeling my heart hammer against my chest.

                What the hell was going on?

                I watched as my dad take wine glasses from our cabinets, and smash them on the floor. He had a drunken grin spread across his face, as he picked up another glass, throwing it down on the floor with all his might.

                My eyes widened, as I stepped out. “Dad, what are you doing? Stop!” I shouted, taking the few remaining wine glasses away from him.

                His bloodshot eyes glared at me, as a bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead. “Give me it back.” He glowered, stepping over the glass, making his way towards me.

                I tried to move away from him, but his arm latched on to mine, pulling me forward. “Give me the glasses, now.” His breath reeked of alcohol, making me wince.

                He hasn’t changed at all.

                And to think after I’ve left for a few weeks, he would change. But apparently, he hasn’t. Not a tiny bit has changed about him. He was still that demanding, violent, drunk father he once was, and always will be.

                “Dad, please. You’re hurting me.” I mumbled, feeling my wrists burn under his tight grip.

                My hands gave up, as I let go of the wine glasses. They crashed on the ground below us, making a deafening noise.

                “You deserve to be punished for running away.” My father slurred.

                My eyes welled up with tears, as I tried to fight my way out of his grip. “I thought you changed!” I cried.

                My father immediately let go of my wrists, pushing me down to the floor. I stared up at him with fear evident in my eyes.

                Was he finally sober?

                I hope he was. He’s always less dangerous when he wasn’t drunk out of his mind.

                “I hate you.” My father muttered, taking in a deep breath of air. “I hate looking at you. You look just like her.”