Saved by him

The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of stale whiskey and fear. "Dad please. Stop. Please. I'm begging you. Let go!" My voice was a desperate whisper, hoarse from repeated pleas, as his hand, a vice of drunken rage, tightened around my wrist.

He dragged me, stumbling, from the dimly lit kitchen into the oppressive darkness of my room. The sudden release of my arm sent me sprawling onto the worn carpet, then onto my bed. "You're staying there for the rest of the day without any food or drink. You're gonna stay in there and not get in my way," his words slurred, thick with the familiar bitterness of Jack Daniel's.

Another night. Another bottle. Another wave of his aggression washing over me. Mum died nearly a year ago, and he's been a stranger ever since. The loving father, the gentle man who rarely touched a drop, was gone, replaced by this monster.

"Are you listening to me, you ungrateful idiot? Are you listening, Ella?"

My voice was barely audible, choked with tears. "Yes, yes I am. I understand. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"It better not. There's an orphanage not too far down from here. You'll be off there if it happens again."

"I understand, Dad."

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing the finality of my fate. His heavy footsteps faded into the living room, followed by the blare of the TV, the roar of a football crowd. Tears, hot and silent, traced paths down my temples, disappearing into the pillow beneath my face. Just another night. Just another night I'd cry myself to sleep, praying he wouldn't come back to beat me. Sixteen, depressed, abused, and utterly alone. And tomorrow, a new school. Life just didn't get better.