By Chance | Complete |

Chapter Fifty One

Lyra

One year, ten months ago

My heart sank as I spotted my fathers black BMW sitting in the driveway. Neither my mom or Lil's car was there.

I quietly tried to sneak through the back door, trying my best to not make any noise. But the back door was by the kitchen.

Where he had been.

"Lil?" He asked.

I gulped as I froze in my spot. "It's Lyra." I came into the doorway and found him sitting at the island.

A half empty bottle of his favourite whiskey sat in front of him. The top few buttons of his blue dress shirt were undone.

"You skipped a class today."

No, he already knew.

I was stupid to think he didn't know.

So fucking stupid.

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand as I took a breath. "I didn't feel well."

"You never feel good, do you?" He gripped the neck of the bottle, tipping and pouring it into his glass. "Always with the fucking problems. Always skipping class."

"I'm really sorry. I-I just didn't feel good. A lot happened today."

The bottle hit the marble counter so hard, I was surprised it didn't shatter. "What? You're bringing up my sister? My sister, Lyra." His hand gripped the crystal glass in his hand. "Some nerve. You don't get to fucking grieve, she hated you too." He snapped, pushing back his stool and his hand came across my cheek.

My entire cheek stung from the hard smack he gave me.

I bit back my lip to hold in my tears as a second and third came. The third being much stronger than the first two. Enough to force my body to the floor.

The metallic taste of blood entered my mouth.

"You didn't lose anything." He unbuckled his belt and pulled it off his pants before the loud crack of the leather belt against my back filled the room.

I let out a cry of pain as I curled up in a ball, hiding my face with my arms.

My body ached and flinched with each harsh crack.

"That was my sister. You didn't deserve to know her. You're the reason she's dead, you should have never been born that day. And you should have been the one to get sick instead."

His cruel words were something I had grown used to over the years.

Most people my age came home to a greeting where their parents asked how their day was. My dad beat the fuck out of me as a greeting everyday after school.

Sometimes before school. Sometimes after dinner. The only thing that was for sure was that he was going to hurt me almost everyday.

For as long as I remembered, my father pushed, hit, or kicked me. His abuse over the years got worse, slowly progressing from small things to hitting, to beating me.

He didn't dare touch my face until I was old enough to wear enough to wear makeup.

My mother had a huge black and white striped Sephora bag on my new makeup vanity. Along with a new iPad, still in plastic.

I was expected to learn how to do my makeup, and wear it every single day. Even if I didn't want to.

I had to hold up appearances for the beloved middle school principal.

His weird, outcast daughter couldn't be seen with bruises.

It could question his character.

Though, I'm sure he'd make up a story to convince anyone that asked.

The beatings didn't start until I was eleven, on my eleventh birthday.

The night before my parents had a party at the house. My parents' house was quite big, too big for the four person family that lived there.

No matter how big the house, the fucking mansion was, there was never enough space for all of us to live here.

I was made to make a small appearance at all my parents' parties, and based on my behaviour that week according to my father, I was sometimes allowed to take a dessert to bed.

On that specific night, my mother allowed me to take something because it was my birthday.
When I got up to my room, I heard my name being called from down the hall. 

It was my fathers best friend since birth. They were born on the same day, in the same room.

Mayor of New York City.

"Where's the washroom on this end, Lyra?" He gave me a smile.

"Just down the hall on the right."

"Can you show me?"

I gulped and nodded before turning around. He followed close behind me.

The smell of liquor was strong on him.

I froze, only a few feet away from the door as his hand carcasses my butt, gripping it before his hand went to my small breasts that had started developing a couple years earlier.

The rest of the night I tried my best to act like nothing had happened. Until it happened again when he hugged me goodbye.

I tried to avoid his hug, I tried.

I really didn't want it to happen again. I felt disgusted with myself.

My father got upset with me, shooting me one of his looks.

"You embarrass this family more and more every fucking day, Lyra." The cold, emotionless, voice snapped.

My whole body started to shake slightly.

"I-I'm sorry."

"I didn't tell you you could speak." He got up off my bed.

He was so much taller than I was. Standing six foot one. So much stronger.

"People don't miss embarrassing disappointments, Lyra." He reminded me. "You better give me a good reason to why you wouldn't hug your uncle."

The smallest glimmer of hope flickered in my heart.

Maybe, just maybe he would think this was a good enough reason.

"He...He touched me." I barely got out.

His eyes widened before fire filled them. The back of his hand came across my face.

Hard.

His ring scraped against my lip. The iron taste burned my tongue.

The hits didn't stop, only moving to my body.

They kept me home for a week and a half and told my school it was a surprise birthday trip with family.

I wasn't allowed to go anywhere. To see Bridgette. I had to stay in my room alone with only my books.

My father left me alone until my face healed.
The day after my first beating, my body hurt and throbbed so bad. I could hardly get out of bed.

I had hardly made it to bed.

Their abuse never ended.

There were good days. But eventually, even the expected good days faded.

All the bad stopped making up for those rare moments of 'good'.

After Bridgette's death, I was completely alone