Everything || j.s

Chapter 18

I looked around avoiding eye contact with my father. A small object shaped into a spike at the end was gripped firmly in his hand, pointing in my direction.
"Get the hell away from me." I said, as monotone and calm as possible. His deafening chuckle sent shivers creeping up my spine.

"You see though, it's impossible for me to do that after the suffering I've been through since you moved to London." He grew closer and closer to me, when the doorbell rang. He stormed out of the room, locking the door behind him. I couldn't hear or care less what the people wanted at the door, all I cared about was having a plan of what to do.

First, I needed to get these tie wraps off my hands and feet. Preferably feet, kicking is a good strategy of protection when you're going to be murdered, right? I lifted both of my legs so that my ankles were at arms reach and tugged at each side of the wrap, loosening it a lot. Eventually it was off and I just had to tackle my hands.

It was nearly impossible to release them, but I managed it with less than second to spare. I stood, feet at shoulder width and a straight expression wiped across my face.
"Oh, so you think you're all clever now you've 'escaped'. But, look around, Em. You haven't. You're still trapped."
"Screw you." I gritted my teeth and stood my ground as he stormed towards me, so we were only inches apart. The stench of alcohol overwhelmed me.

He backed me into a corner, leaving me no space to run. My eyes narrowed as he raised the knife to my neck level, yet I didn't feel even slightly panicked, or frightened. All of the energy I'd lost, all of the pain I'd felt, suddenly came rushing back through my body, turning itself into something much more powerful. I breathed deeply and calmly as I dug my fingernails into the sides of my fathers wrist, causing his hand to weaken and release the weapon.

I'd never seen him give up so easily. I knew he obviously must have had something else in store for me, but i was acting in the moment. For all I knew, it could be the last moment of my life, and if I was going to die, I wanted people to remember me as a strong and powerful woman who went down fighting, not feel pity for me as I was a helpless young girl without an ounce of possibility of survival.

I threw myself onto the wooden floorboards and scrambled for the knife, finding it easily. I stood up, and without hesitation, I kicked his chest which sent him stumbling away a few steps away from me. One of the perks of him being drunk, I suppose. I carried on striking his chest until he was backed up into the opposing corner. I stood as he was, holding the knife firmly up to his neck.

"Not the best feeling, being in the other position is it, dad?" He rolled his eyes and grinned, causing me to pressure my spare arm on his collar bone.
"Go on then, love, kill me." He had this daunting tone in his voice, pushing me further towards killing him.
"You see, I could. I hold the weapon here threatening you, knowing I'm not going to kill you."
"I always told you you were weak." He chuckled.
"No. I'm strong. I've grown, stronger than you will ever be. Because dear father, every single intention in my body tells me to kill you, to take your life here and now. But still I can hold myself back. I believe you're the weak one between the two of us. The drinking, the drugs? All because you're not strong enough to deal with your own problems, so you go down the easy route of letting the addictions soak them all up. And the abuse? Look at you. You're here with your daughter, who's holding a knife to your throat, because you can't control your anger, so you took it out on her for all those years. You're a weak and uncontrollable monster."

He slumped down and rested his head in his hands as I walked out of the room and up the stairs, feeling emotionless.

Joe's POV