Cruel Intentions

She’s silent all day, not one sound crosses her lips. He’s home and drunk. She’s in the kitchen cooking dinner, still and as silent as a mouse. In he comes, slamming the door and shouting at the top of his voice.

This is it, this is where it all starts. Same time every night. She knows what to expect.

He stumbles into the kitchen and barges past her, somehow not aware of her presence. He pulls out from a blue plastic bag four cans of beer and a few bottles of cider.

As the evening carries on, each can and each bottle start to become lighter until they are all empty. There's nothing in this world that she has done wrong or could ever do, but in the end, the result is still the same and she ends up being the punch bag.

Him, yeah the raging alcoholic; also known as dad in her eyes, he starts shouting again. There isn’t anyone else in this house—she's all alone. Tears start to fall down her face, one drop at a time.

Once it’s hit him then she panics, she always knows when to be ready for it.

She’s in her new pajamas ready for bed, still silent. In he comes with such racket, the other side of the world could hear him, she starts to shake. She should be used to this by now.

He screams at her as his spit lands on her forehead, he grabs her by the arm; which is already marked with bruises, and drags her downstairs back into the kitchen.

He carries on raising his voice, saliva continuing to wet her face. He punches her right in the stomach and kicks her half to death.

The dried up tears are now re-soaked with fresh ones, these, however, are more than just a few drops.