I lean restlessly on the crisp counter staring at the clock, waiting for it to strike twelve. I watch the dark wind strike by the windows as my stamina leaves with it. Light Arizona sand hits the rusty brown windows delicately.The cold air bites the back of my neck as if it hadn't been cold all along. My body is resetting from me overworking it all day. A peaceful yet eerie night. But working alone at a diner on a Friday night is the least of my worries, It’s what awaits me at home.

After the slowest two minutes, it strikes twelve AM and I rapidly lock up and flip to the beautiful red closed sign. I leap in my army green 2003 Honda Civic and speed home. After a moment I arrive home, and I park beside our decaying trailer. I look outside from my foggy car window, mentally preparing myself for what could be inside. I flip my sun visor down and study my face in the tiny mirror inside. My white skin glows like a broken egg. My eyes appear upside down from my flattened lashes. My wavy copper brown hair sits firmly on my shoulders like a steady hand. I look ripe. I stare back at my home. It's broken down like an old, used shack. The trailer is a sad, faded yellow. The windows are gray from age with dirt in between the cracks. I flip the visor back and make my way inside. The park smells of cigarette butts and dense humidity. The sorts of conflict in this shabby home are unimaginable. 

I open the front door, which lets out the most distasteful screech from the rusty bolts. I look down abruptly to see my little sister standing before me. It is almost three hours past her bedtime and the SpongeBob theme song is blaring on the TV. Her stuffed animals are scattered all over the stained ash gray carpet. The air smells rank from the food left sitting.The holes and cigarette burns on our tan coach somehow seemed more intense. Before I begin to burden Lizzie with questions I notice the look on her face. Her smile says she’s happy to see me, but her eyes say differently. The glare of her foggy eyes, a look that only brings me worry. I take a longer look at her and I notice her cheeks are slightly damp from previous tears, which she had attempted to wipe away. My thoughts didn’t get far before she regards the look on my face.

“What’s wrong?” Lizzie asks me in an unsettled tone. 

“Why are you still up? Do you know what time it is?” I try not to sound resentful while predicting her answer.

“Well.. daddy isn’t home. And I’m hungry.” She rubs her stomach and looks down delicately. My frustration erupts for my father. 

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“He’s running errands…,”  she says hopefully.

“That’s funny considering he doesn’t own a car.”

“His friend picked him up. I'm hungry Cassie.” Lizzie looks back up wistfully.

 This isn’t a new turn of events for us, my father is often absent when I return from my diner job. But today is different. Lizzie is used to these things, but something feels off. Her look is unbalanced, like she’s embedded in trama. I am unduly distressed by what my father might have done.

I  now consider the past. Has he hit her again? The first time he hit her was when he first became an alcoholic.His anger escalated immediately when he couldn’t manage his stress after my mom traded our family for a new man. He lost his job after appearing intoxicated during a shift. After that it got worse; I took the head role of the house and started taking on three jobs. I tried motivating him to sobriety many times, but it’s been two years since my mom has left and he still shows no interest. He never attempted to quit, it only escalated. He comes home only late nights, agitated and antagonizing my sister and I. It was endorsed that my mother was the only thing that kept him stable, and even his children weren’t worth his sobriety. Even when she was around, he had no time for us because he was the only one employed. My father is even more of a stranger now than he ever was.

That's why the nanny cam is essential, he's too unpredictable. The rare moments that he is sober at home; I show him the footage of him drunk and notify him of his actions but he denies them from happening. One occasion was when I cussed him out for hitting Lizzie a few weeks ago, he got very aggressive. I told him if he were to touch Lizzie again we are leaving. He reacts with a devious laugh.

“And where would you go, you ain't got no family besides me”, he implied bluntly.

“You have never been a family to us”, I choked. I instantly realized I've gone too far because he’s already enraged. That’s when he ascended from his spot on the couch and rapidly lunged forward to grab my throat,I jerked back but he was too quick. 

“What did you say? What was that?” He stared into my eyes corruptly. My sister stared from across the room after being recently awakened from the conflict. Her eyes were bulged and her mouth was partially open; she was too stunned to move. As I was in his grip I felt like my head was going to pop like a can of worms. He was gripping tighter with no intention of stopping. I finally realized the dull lamp beside the rippled up coach, just barely in my reach. I grabbed the edge of the shade with my fingertips and whipped the side of his head, with just enough strength left to release myself from his grip. That was my final confirmation that the father I knew and loved a year ago was no longer there. He is a man I no longer recognize. 

Now I go on my phone and click the home camera app .I skim through the footage of today until I see the unexpected. I see my father crying, in distress. Something he never does.He examines his hands for a few moments then mutters something to my sister and slams the front door as he leaves. There’s something being veiled from me.

I microwave my sister's chicken tenders from the diner and join her at the dinner table. I am seventeen working three jobs and raising my six year old sister, while my father is out running from the fact that he’s an abusive alcoholic. Sometimes I wish I hadn't dropped out of school so I could have become a lawyer, but taking care of my sister is more important than anything. She mostly takes care of herself, when my father is home he just snores on the couch. I taught her everything she needs to know, and I see her during my breaks.But sometimes I think the only thing I can do to keep her safe is getting her out of here.

I set her to bed after she has a full stomach, and I go to get some rest myself. But that doesn’t last long until I hear a banging on the door, of course it is my father. I unlatch the door to let him in. Before he even came to talk, I can already smell it on his breath. 

“Wheresss… Lizzie?” he slurred. 

“She is sleeping, which she should have been doing hours ago.”

“Don’t you tell me how to raise my kid. You better have fed her though, she probably hasn’t eaten all day”, he snickered.

“Where have you been?” I say defensively.

“Ya know.” He slurs as his head sinks. His appearance is disturbing, he slouches aggressively and is constantly swaying. His eyes are daunting and dark.They look as if they are hiding in a dark tunnel. This look brings me to the most unnerving feeling.

“I know that you have never put us before your addiction.I know that you tore this family apart because you're selfish and inconsiderate.” I blurt out my emotion like a seeping leak.

“I don’t care what you think, or what you say. Your mother is the b*tch who left you here. I never wanted you guys to begin with. You're both ungrateful self centered brats.” He spat the words in my face like shards of glass.

His obliteration only brings me one thing,I punch him in the nose harder than I thought I was capable of and next thing I know he is lying in front of me, face first in blood. All of my anger I've been holding for years, now at my feet. I notice a slight shine from his back pocket as I turn away. I walk over to pull out a  dull pocket knife. I am filled with confusion because he has never had any clarity to carry a weapon. I flip the metal blade and lay it on the palm of my hand. I feel something warm and wet on the back, I turn it over to see blood. I start to feel nauseous and I swerve behind me and get startled once I see my sister at the front door.  

  “You shouldn’ have done that Cassie. Daddy told me not to tell you what he was doing at     night.” Her pale glim face lights up the ruinous night.

“What… what are you saying Lizzie.” 

“He made a big mistake tonight and I shouldn’t have seen.”

“What did he do?!” I shout at her fearfully.

“The man under the tarp.” Her lip starts to quiver. 

“What?”

“Daddy said we are in this together and we need to get rid of him before you see.”

I have no emotion. I can hear everything Lizzie is saying and I can feel my heart about to burst out of my chest. There is no other choice than to escape this decomposing trailer, my father has made the biggest mistake of his life. And there is no way in hell he is involving us in it.