In the Shadows

Chapter Eight

Only one chapter today because it's all I've written since the last update 

-•-

The door banged open, startling Cass awake. Her father dropped his bag on the floor, kicking it away. He slammed the door behind him. Cass laid still, shutting her eyes. She did not want to deal with her dad at 3am. She had to be up in an hour.

The light flicked on, and she pulled her blanket over her head. His heavy footsteps nearly echoed through the room as he entered the bathroom. The faucet in the bathtub turned on. Her blanket was suddenly ripped off. She rubbed her eyes and was greeted with a point towards the small kitchen. She hoisted herself out of bed, making her way over to the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of beer.

She, of course, didn't know that was its name. She just knew she hated it, as she hated all the drinks that he loved. It made him harder to read; some days, he got angry. Others, mellow or groggy. It may be a good day for her, with games and affection. Or it could be awful, nonstop training and violence.

This didn't stop her from bringing him the bottle, popping it open with her teeth. He took it, walking back into the bathroom and closing the door. Her eyes rolled as she made her way her bed. There wouldn't any more sleep tonight. The last time she let herself sleep through one of these episodes, her dad had passed out in the tub and nearly drowned. She'd barely woken in time.

As she dressed, she could hear him muttering to himself. He used his voice around her more frequently now, though he still never directed any of it at her. She didn't understand why. What was stopping him? Why was she not allowed to speak? It had made less and less sense to her the older she grew, the more people that she was around. They were clearly helpful, these sounds. What was the reason she couldn't learn? She didn't really want to learn, but she didn't understand why that wasn't the only reason.

She heated up some broth as a breakfast for herself and a hangover prevention for her father. She keep an ear out, listening for him. He had stopped muttering. After pouring her portion of broth into her thermos, and her father's into a bowl, she knocked on the bathroom door. A delay, then a two knocks from inside the room answered her. Satisfied, she walked back to the kitchen and grabbed the food she'd made. She set her father's bowl down and then plopped back onto her bed.

She pulled a puzzle out from a box under her bed and started putting it together. She had made it about a dozen times; it was starting to get too easy. But it had been ages since she had been given a new one. Presents were rare treats, usually reserved as a reward for her extra good behavior. They could easily be taken away if she was ungrateful for them, and so she continued to use them until they fell apart. The last time she had expressed that she wanted something new, he'd beaten her bloody with his belt. She was... 6, then? She never really bothered keeping track.

Her father left the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 4:15. He reached over, grabbed the box her puzzle was being put on and yanked it away. Pieces flew over the floor and sheets. She looked at him, indignant. He slapped her before gesturing that she clean up the mess.

She moved to collect the pieces as he settled into his bed with the broth and the bottle of vodka next to it. Once the puzzle was put away, she grabbed her keys and went to leave.

Her dad grabbed her attention and pointed to his desk chair. Confused, she complied. He walked behind her a tugged slightly on the ponytail holder keeping her hair out of her face. Not knowing or caring what his intention was, she started counting her keys. They jingled loudly. Almost loudly enough to cover the sound of scissors.

She froze. Silence. She reached back to find her entire ponytail had been chopped off. She looked back at her dad as he threw the hair in the trash. She jumped up and ran towards him. She hugged him and then bolted. She'd been begging for a haircut for months. It was too long and too thick, and she hated it. He'd finally given in.