Aloura West | ✓

Chapter Ten

Aloura pressed her face deeper into the pillow as sobs racked her body, the moments she'd wished to forget replayed like a broken record. She scrunched her nose at the sound of him moaning for another. She'd always known he wasn't faithful- that was not what had surprised Aloura. It was the way he'd easily mistaken her for another- was she not special?

Parts of her had believed he'd only cheated because she was a far from him. That he imagined her as he fucked the others, not the other way around. Not that it made his cheating any more tolerable if he'd imagined her. But Aloura had too much on her plate to care about dumping Kaden. Plus, her mother approved, and that was all that mattered to Aloura. She had someone in her life that her mother had met. Maybe Aloura was just scared to change and grow out of her past, because that was the only place her mother lived.

Her heart couldn't handle another rejection. She wanted Kaden; she knew that much. So as a feeble attempt to mend her broken heart, she filled her mind with the happy memories they'd spent together. Reminding herself of the moment they both shared with her last mother, but the images of how carefree her mother once was saddened her even more.

Aloura was too engrossed in her mind to have noticed the time pass. They say time flies when you're having fun, but she wouldn't have called that fun at all. It wasn't until her father called for her did she realise she'd gotten herself fucked. Again. She lifted herself up from the bed and smoothed down her clothes, before wiping her tears.

She grabbed the broken mirror from her drawer and held it to her face. Her eyes were puffy, and if her dad wasn't pissed out his mind, he would definitely realise. She flinched slightly as his voice called for her again. She placed the mirror back from where she'd retreived it, before walking to her door.

She had made sure to close the door after her; it was her safe haven, and although it wasn't necessarily the best of rooms out there, it was hers. And it was the only place her father did not destroy. She walked to the staircase with heavy feet, and a racing heart. She had not cleaned nor made dinner- all thanks to Kaden.

Aloura shook her head at the thought, she couldn't blame him, this was all her own doings.

"Seems like you've grown a backbone." Michael's words left his lips before Aloura even had the chance to step into the room. Aloura didn't reply, so he continued. "I let you off nicely last night." He told her, although Aloura couldn't remember him being nice at all. "And it seems you've now taken me for granted."

Aloura once again didn't reply, she knew better than that.

Michael looked at his daughter, "why isn't my dinner ready, and whys the house a mess?"

Because you've not made it, and you trashed the house. Aloura swallowed what she really wanted to say, instead mumbling out a pathetic sorry, "I forgot sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her, "you forgot?"

Aloura nodded and blinked the tears that threatened to spill. She was never good at confrontations. She learned once in psychology class that she cried during arguments because when growing up she was never given the space to talk her anger freely. And Aloura connected to that.

"I ought to' teach you a lesson, maybe next time you won't forget." The lump in Aloura's throat grew at his words. He wasn't that drunk, which meant this beating would last for longer, and his hits would be more precise.

Aloura cowered away as he stepped closer, her eyes wide and breathing rugged. All she wanted was to be given a moment to feel her emotions. But it seemed like the universe, or whoever was up there, clearly had different plans.

Aloura heard the echo of the slap before she felt it.

Her father's nostrils were flared, and his teeth clamped shut when she'd looked at him again. Yet his eyes were the same, as cold and distant as the first day he stumbled in drunk.

That night was the first of many nights she spent on the kitchen floor. Laying in her own blood and tears. Except that night, she'd hoped her father would stumble across her in the morning and realise what he'd done.

It was safe to say he didn't care about what he'd done.

And that was the first time her father had broken her heart.

"Are ya fuckin' listening?" He snarled at her, Aloura blinked twice and nodded her head. Even though they both knew she wasn't. "You weren't raised right" he snarled; his hand fisted a handful of her hair. He pulled at it as he spoke, "Ever been told lying is wrong?"

Aloura didn't reply again, because she knew it was one of his old set ups. If she'd said she had been taught that, he'd have beat her for not following his teachings. But the opposite wasn't a better choice; he'd use the excuse that he'd teach her now, and thus, beat her. Not that not replying would get her out this predicament- but it was the lesser of the three.

"I fucking asked you a question" he slurred, tightening his hold on the girl. "So ya answer me. Got it?"

Aloura attempts to nod, but the firm hold her father had on her hair hindered her from doing so. Michael pulls Aloura's face to his and snarls at her, before dropping her. His foot meets her face and then her stomach before she has time to realise she was on the floor.

But he ignores her cries of pain and the blood that spilled into her hand as he steps over her limp body. "Don't dirty my floor," he tells her. "And I already ate, don't make dinner."

Aloura resisted the urge to lunge at her father, he had just lectured her, and hurt her over not making dinner. Yet he had just admitted to already eating. Aloura watched his retreating boots until they disappeared before lowering her head into her arms and letting her tears fall.

She wasn't sure why she cried. She was practically used to his treatment; it was basically a norm at this point. But she couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that filled her every time. Although she wasn't sure if she was disappointed at him, or herself for once again indulging in the idea that people could change.