Another play takes place. I hardly pay attention to the games, no matter what’s on, but I instantly know this result isn’t going to please my father any more than the last one did. My stomach coils with tension because these moments never end well.
“Fucking shithead!!” My father raises himself off the couch and screams a mouthful of obscenities at the TV.
I lean as far away from him as possible, using the arm rest on the end of the couch as an excuse. Tugging at my hair, I glance at my phone, but I have no texts to distract me.
I’ve never been a sociable girl, not since my father’s drinking went from occasional to daily. He didn’t always drink like this, but when his company went under and his financial security disappeared when I was six years old, so did our semblance of a happy, loving family.
I glance up at the TV just in time to see somebody score for the wrong team.
“The running back just fumbled the damn ball away! He took the fucking pipe! Took the pipe! Goddamn motherfucker!” My father kicks the coffee table and nearly spills his beer right out of his hand.
“Dad, it’s okay,” I say.
Big mistake.
Whappp!!!
The slap across my face is always startling, no matter how many times I’ve endured it.
This one’s particularly hard, though. So hard my head snaps back, and I can taste blood from my teeth slamming together.
“Not okay,” he mutters. “I love you, Sky.”
Oh, no. I know what will follow when he saysI love you. Sure enough, before I can move away fast enough—
Whappp!!!
Right across my same cheek. I can taste the blood even stronger now.
“I love you, so you know I need to show you what’s right,” he says as he turns back to the game. “Screwing up is never okay.”
My eyes smart with tears, but I refuse to let him see. Instead, I grab my notebook and my phone and hustle outside to the old tire swing in our backyard.
As I swing back and forth, letting the tire take me wherever it wants, I scribble in my notebook. I’ve got a big story due for my high school newspaper next week, and I want to make sure it’s perfect. It’s a cold fall day in Indiana, but I’m not going back inside until Dad passes out. I glance at the time on my phone, trying to ignore my chills from the gusts of wind.
Pass-out time should be in about two hours. That’s usually how long it takes him to drink too much and get riled up enough that his body eventually gives him peace.
Unfortunately for the rest of us, we never get that peace. Not when we live with a monster and have no way out.
The anxiety I’ve pushed away takes over, and I bring the swing to a stop and stand up. Taking my notebook with me, I run to the very back of the yard where I’m completely out of sight from inside the house. I squat down on the ground as the yard spins around me, and I desperately try to suck in air. I force myself to focus my attention on the falling leaves around me. After what feels like forever but in reality is probably only a few seconds, I’m able to take a deep breath. My body slumps in exhaustion.
I’m outside. I’m safe. For now.
As my brothers have gotten older and bigger, Dad tends to stay away from them. But they were never his favorite targets anyway. Mom and I are the ones he takes his rage out on. Nick and Ben protect us whenever they’re home, and they’ve taken Dad on directly plenty of times.
The thing is, for every ten times they stop him, there’s always that one time they’re not around.
And Mom still sleeps with him in their bedroom. When I see her bruises in the mornings, I can barely get my breakfast down.
I look down at my half-finished article, determined to make sure I get one thing right. My family may be falling apart, but I can at least make sure I’ll have a way to support myself when I’m out of here for good.
Chapter Two
“Wake up, Skyscraper.”
I open my eyes to my brother, Ben, lifting me into his arms.
“Hey,” I murmur into his jacket as I bury my face so he can’t see the marks.
