3:30pm

17: help

                        <5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . . >

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I woke up to a pounding head, swollen right cheek and an almost shut left eye. On my lower lip was a small, bleeding and painful cut.

Lying on the cold, hard ground, my right eye took in my surroundings the best it could. As far as I could tell, I was still in the living room.

My father . . .

He was gone, the front door wide open, cold wind billowing the drapes of the living room. Through the open door, I could see it was already dark outside, stars twinkling in the deep blue distance.

I was starting to remember now. What had happened. My father had hit me. When he saw I wasn't giving in to the belt, he punched me instead. Beat me till I blacked out.

How long had I been out for?

Slowly, painfully, I propped my battered body up with my elbow, then I tried sitting up. The sudden, searing pain in my face and head sent me crashing back down. Groaning, I squeezed my eye shut at the pain. My entire body felt like it'd been hit by a car.

Without warning, tears welled up in my one good eye. My father did this to me. For the first time, he used his fists on me. For the first time, his attack was toward my face. That was more than enough proof to show he wasn't my real father after all. No father would do such a thing to his own daughter.

Quickly, I wiped away the tears that'd gone down my right eye, realizing they only made me feel more weak than I already did. Which was not what my body needed at the moment.

I reached my hand into the pocket of my coat and got out my phone, only to meet it's screen cracked. Hoping it still worked, I pressed the power button. It came alive at once, the beam momentarily increasing the pounding in my head.

Glancing at the time which read 19:50, I thiught about calling 911, but on second thoughts, I didn't. I dialed Mikayla's number instead and raised the phone to my ear.

"Hey, girl. What's up?" Her voice came to me almost immediately, airy and cheery.

"Hey, uh—" I began but was cut short by a sudden lump in my throat. Again, I was on the verge of tears. Realizing I could've died this night and no one would know until tomorrow or next when I didn't show up at school, my jaw quivered.

"Cleo, are you okay?"

"Hey, can you, um, come pick me up? At home?" I finally got out, suppressing the shakiness in my voice.

"What was that? I didn't get you, Cleo." Then in a hushed voice. "Can you keep it down, Greg?"

"But I found the condom," "Greg" replied.

"I'm on the freaking phone!" Then her voice rose up again. "Hey. Sorry about that. What were you saying?"

For a while, I was silent.

"Cleo? You still there?"

"Uh, you know what, never mind." I told her.

"Oh? You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah. You just, uh, have fun."

"Oh. Okay, um, bye?"

"Yeah, bye." And then the call cut.

A single tear rolled down my right temple. I didn't know what to do. I needed help. And fast. But there was no one to reach out to. The pain in my head had gone up and I could barely see. Suddenly, I grew scared. What if I did die? I didn't think I was ready yet. I still had a lot I wanted to do with my life.