Adopted by Billie Eilish

1

"Brooke!"

I sigh as I listen to the tormenting cries of my father yet again. It's 6:30 in the morning, and the sun's rays are beginning to shine through the glass windows around our house. I hear the sound of birds chirping outside, and a calm breeze blows through the trees outside of our windows as my favorite song Ocean Eyes softly plays on my phone in the background. It sounds like a peaceful environment to live in. But in my case, it's the exact opposite.

He's clearly drunk. He drinks every morning, evening, and night. And when he does get drunk, it's up to me to take care of him. I don't want to take care of him, and four years ago, I've made the mistake of telling that to his face. I'm lucky that I only got a harsh slap to the face and a lecture about attempting not to turn out how Mom did and meet her fate. When she told him that, he grabbed a knife and stabbed her fifteen times. All she had time to say before she died was that she loved me. And I held her hand while she died. I didn't understand what had happened since I was only six, but he showed me what he used and told me not to mirror her actions, and made me promise. I did promise, and two years later, I forgot. I'm thankful he didn't kill me and reminded me of my promise again.

I've never been able to get away. I've tried once last year but got caught when I sprained my ankle after jumping out of my window into the bushes below. I thought that they would catch my fall, but they didn't. He'd heard the sound and hurried out. And when he saw me, he grabbed me by my wrist and dragged me inside, and punished me.

I've been through so many punishments at this point that I've lost count. I've been slapped beaten, punched, whipped by a belt, starved until I was as skinny as a stick (and still am), have had broken bottles smashed on my neck, and had insults carved on my stomach with a knife. For a long time, I've felt like I could never get up. I'm surprised that he hasn't killed me yet. But I want to be the one to kill myself, not him. He can't be in control. I'll choose my fate. I'll choose how I can reunite myself with Mom again. I'll —

"BROOKE! GET YOUR LAZY SELF DOWN HERE AND MAKE MY BREAKFAST!"

I quickly get dressed and rush down the stairs. When he tells me to make his breakfast, I have a time limit to get downstairs. If I'm not down in exactly a minute, I get punished. Today, I make it down with only a few seconds to spare and race past Dad, hurrying to the stove and take out the frying pan, turning up the heat. He looks over at me as I'm trying to open the bacon pack.

"You got lucky you made it down on time," he growls at me. "Now come give me a kiss."

I put down the pack of bacon and nervously shuffle over to him. I bend down and kiss his balding head. I spot his beer belly protruding underneath his yellow-stained tanktop, as Mom had called it. I can smell the beer on his breath. It's gross.

"Good girl. Now go make my bacon. And don't burn it!" He lets out a belch and takes another sip of his beer. "Or you'll be punished. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," I reply, hurrying back over to the stove and beginning to cook the bacon.

I really would kill for some freedom.