The week had exhausted me, and I’d fallen asleep after a good, long shower. I’d had wet hair when I had gone and now that I was awake, I was beginning to regret not waiting for my hair to dry before going to bed. But something was wrong. It wasn’t time to get up yet. And someone else was in my room. At first, I thought that it was Jane, but then I saw a knife and reconsidered. I got a whiff of the pungent air that reeked of alcohol and recognized the scent instantaneously.

“Dad?” I whispered in disbelief to the pitch-black darkness of the room. I silently cursed the fact that my room didn’t have a lock.

“Alex Roderick Meyer.” His voice was deadly, and I felt like my heart would stop. I hadn’t seen my father in nine months. He hadn’t shaved very well, and he had cuts on his face. His teeth were yellowish when he gave me a familiar, creepy, sinister, and lopsided smile. (I tend to ramble when I’m freaked out.) And he had been drinking. For one thing, I could smell it, and for another, it was freakishly visible and looming here right in front of my face.

“I have a middle name?” I dumbly asked.

“It’s a family name,” he snarled.

“Then where did you get my name?”

“Ask your mother. Well, if you ever see her again…”

My throat ran dry. “What do you mean?”

“What are you playing at, boy?” he growled. “It’s your fault Jaan left me, you useless excuse for a human being.”

Oh, like he has any right to talk. He’s the one that rinks all day long! Fury rose within me. Why did he keep blaming me? I decided to keep my head and not talk back. He glared at me, then squinted at my hair. “When did you go blond?”

“I bleached my hair.” I tugged on it self-consciously. I couldn’t help wondering what he thought of that…

“Whatever. Does it look like I care?” and without warning, I saw his arm come down with a flash as the knife sliced through my flesh. Without thinking, an agonized cry of pain burst from my lips. I looked down to see that he had cut a long slash on my left arm, from the crook of my elbow to my wrist. It was not very deep; thankfully, he wasn’t strong at the moment, and he certainly was not coherent either.

My arm was starting to bother me now, and when my dad made a move towards me again, the door opened. It was my mom and Mr. Browne. My dad slowly turned around, and his eyes widened.

“Jay, you’re not allowed to be here. You signed an agreement, remember?” my mom snapped.

“Get out of my house or I’ll call the police,” Mr. Browne added, his blue eyes blazing.

“You’ll call ‘em anyway, won’t ‘cha?” he slurred. I realized now that his eyes were bloodshot. How was this man a father? How was this man my father?

“I can shoot you if I want to, Mr. Meyer.” Mr. Browne banged a gun against his palm threateningly. I hadn’t noticed it and new that my eyes were widening because of it. “You have until I count to ten to get out of my house. One… two… th-”

My father shoved past them and was gone like an evaporated nightmare. The stench of blood, my own blood, started to fill the air. I glanced down at my arm and had to hold back a scream. It was still bleeding, and although I didn’t think it was fatal, it was enough to bother me.

“Alex, you’re bleeding!” Mom exclaimed. Really now? That realization certainly didn’t take a genius.

“I know, I know- I got it,” I mumbled.

“How could you let him in?” Mr. Browne demanded.

“I didn’t!”

“Whatever- one month.”

“He’s right, Alex.” My mom shrugged and left. In a way, her agreement hurt more than a knife meeting my soft flesh. It would be scarred, no doubt- and the same went for my heart.