Breaking Down: Scared

“You coming back sweetie?” he said in that teasing voice that I had come to hate so much.
I sighed. “Yeah Dad. I’m coming.”
I walked around the couch and sat down, leaving a good two feet between us. But being the ass that he is, he just scooted over next to me, close enough for me to feel his breath on the side of my head.
He leaned in a little closer so I turned to ask what exactly was he doing.
But before I had a chance to speak he kissed me, forcing his toungue into my mouth. I could smell [and taste] the beer he had been drinking and I shoved him away.
He slapped me across the face and glared at me in a way that always scared me.
I tried to glare back but all I could manage was a frightened stare. But then his eyes softened. “You can go. I’m tired of this.” He said, as if I had wanted to be there.
I went to my room and slammed the door, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. I collapsed onto my bed, using a pillow to muffle my sobs. This wasn’t home, this was hell.

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