Where do I run to now?



I danced with the devil every day after school. As soon as I would walk in the door it would be a living night mare. My dad is the most malevolent beast in the world. I promise you that. He thinks that it’s acceptable to throw me around like a rag doll. News flash, daddy: I’m your daughter. Like I’d ever have the guts to say that to him. That would just be asking for one more back hand than I usually get on a daily basis. Nobody questions my dad, and he doesn’t take crap from anyone. I long for someone to put him in his place tell him he’s rude, for someone to tell him he’s a nasty ugly poor excuse for a man, for someone to tell him what’s up and for someone to tell him that he is wrong for what he does. They’d be my hero. He’s really a coward hiding behind a scary face.

“Marlow, come here baby I got something for you to do.”
I could smell the stale alcohol falling from his mouth, dribbling the floor across the room, flowing into my nostrils making me want to regurgitate what I had for breakfast. I never knew if he was going to hug me, and tell me all the things a dad would, or if I was going to get hit by his big dry calloused hands again like always. Today it was neither, well at least for now.
“Can you wash all these for me please, dear?” Stroking my hair it’s a huge pile of clothes, that have an overwhelming amount of puke, and alcohol stains. He’s too lazy to get up and wash his own clothes. The stench of the vomit is just sitting in my stomach; I can taste it. I can remember every instance where he would be so drunk that I’d have to take care of him, and do all his dirty work. I can’t even answer, because if I open my mouth I’ll have to clean up my puke as well, so I just nod yes. Smack! to the back of my head.
“That’s what you get when you don’t use that mouth you got on you. When I ask you something you answer me out loud. I don’t want this nodding stuff.”
“Yes sir; I’m sorry sir.”
I don’t even know what to do with all of these clothes. I’m just going to throw them in the washer, put some bleach in and some fabric softener. I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was five years old. And he thinks I’m dumb. My mommy thought that I was smart… I wish that she was still here, she was so beautiful. She was the only thing that made me want to wake up in the morning and keep on trying, and it gave me hope to look at her with her long blonde locks of never ending curls. She had the most beautiful pair of Nutella creamy chocolate brown eyes with a bright sparkle which reminded me of the North Star. She emits a perfect vibe; the kind of vibe where a mommy loves her child, and cherishes every moment with them. The kind of vibe, that she doesn’t judge anyone or anything, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was perfect, and still is in my heart. I remember one time I was sitting there on the bottom of the steps sobbing because of something a kid said to me at school. My mom came up to me, and patted my head, and whispered “honey, don’t listen to ignorant people sweet heart. They aren’t telling the truth.”
R.I.P. Mommy. Anyway back to reality now. I’m sitting on the bench the one my mom made for me before she passed minding my own business like I always do, when my dad comes up to me, and backhands me across the face. I would put money on it that his hands are the most powerful tool in the world. His hands are like a wrecking ball running into a helpless little wall, me being the helpless little wall.
“I’m sorry dad I’m on it I’m on it!”
“You better believe you’re gonna be right on it; don’t you dare run away from me!!”

I ran down the hallway. My dad’s footsteps behind me are getting louder and louder with every step that I take. His pace is fastening behind me as my meek body starts to give out. Where do I run to now?