The Don and His Angel

Chapter 1

TW: abuse

I'm woken in the middle of the night to crashing coming from downstairs. I roll over and pull a pillow over my head in hopes of drowning out the sounds of my drunken father. I can hear him swearing as he drops a glass before he stomps upstairs.

I lay impossibly still, hoping that if I don't move he'll forget to come in here. That he'll walk right past my door and straight to his. But just like every night before this, my pleas are in vain.

The door swings open and slams into the wall behind. My fathers staggering form looms in the doorway. I sit up quickly, keeping the pillow in front of me as a hopeful barrier. He stumbles closer and I know that I should run, I should fight back, but at the end of the day he would find me and he would hurt me anyway. So I sit there and wait for him to stalk closer.

He grabs my hair and pulls me out of my bed and drops me to the hard wooden floor. Immediately the kicks begin.

"The house is a fucking mess," he exclaims between blows. I feel the bruises forming under my skin but I know better than to cry out.

"No wonder no one has tried to fucking marry you," he says with a laugh, leaning down to my level. I don't say a word and I don't look at him. Either of those would only prove to anger him further.

"You know this is all your fault, right?" He asks as he pulls me to my feet by my hair. My face contorts into a grimace before he lets go.

"I shouldn't have to do this," he says before punching me square in the jaw.

"But you just won't listen," he continues, landing a blow to my cheek. I can taste the blood in my mouth and try to ignore it.

He presses his forearm against my throat and holds me up to the wall. My feet are barely grazing the ground, making the pressure on my neck all the more worse.

"Why don't you ever learn your fucking lesson, girl?" He asks before I drop down to the ground in a heap. I take in deep breaths, forcing air back into my lungs. He storms out of the room and I place my hand on the already present bruise on my neck.

After a few minutes, I finally hear him snoring. I tiptoe down the hall to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I examine the new and old bruises in the mirror, glaring at my reflection. I can usually use makeup to cover them, but the one on my neck is far worse than it has ever been before.

With a deep sigh, I return to my room and get back in bed. Sleep finds me surprisingly fast and I find myself in a blissful dream land.