Menacingly

P R O L O G U E

"Get up." my mom said, shaking me lightly. My eyes fluttered open and I sat up thinking something was wrong. "Is everything okay?" I asked. She nodded her head and smiled. "Everything is fine but your dad will be up soon so you should go." she said. The frown on her face erasing immediately. I looked down at the bruises on my arms then asked,"why cant we just leave?"

"You know why," she sighed. I got out of bed and went to my closet to get dressed. Sure, we have nice things and lived in a beautiful house considering my dad was the CEO of some company he never really talked about but I sometimes imagine how fast everything would be taken from him if people were to know what went on behind the walls.

"If your dad was to find out that either one of us told a living soul then we would be as good as dead." she completed. I cringed when the word, dad escaped from her once again. "Mom," I sighed slipping on my black converse. "He isn't my dad, he's my father."
"What's the difference?"

I thought about the million ways I could tell her and settled upon a way that I felt would make the answer slightly more interesting. "Do you remember the poem I wrote when I was younger?" I asked, exiting the closet to go brush my teeth. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath before repeating every word as if the paper was in front of her exposing each and every stanza from top to bottom:

A Dad is someone who yells when the rules are broken,
Someone who holds me when I cry,
Someone whose smile warms me inside when I come through,
Someone who has faith in me even when I fail,

A Father is someone who gave away sperm,
Someone who is the biological male parent,
Someone who has the choice to take responsibility for his offspring,
Someone who could donate a life to someone and never look back,

I know not only do I have a Father but a Dad.
I know that when he yells he is teaching,
I know he roughly jokes when I cry because he is hurting for me,
I know he lied about the tears in his eyes at my first concert,
I know that when he tells me to do better or else he believes I will
without the threat

I think my Dad inside scared about me growing up
I think my Dad still recalls when I was 6 and he didn't want to let go my bike
I think he didn't want to let go and see me skin my knee, and he still doesn't
I think that's why he still doesn't want me to take the ride of life on my own
I think he wants to be there to catch me when I fall

I know back then I needed my dad for everything.
Everything from learning to speak, to walking, to riding my bike, to learning
my times tables, to being a big girl.
My dad thinks that now that I'm leaving him.
I think my dad knows that he won't always be able to catch me
I know that that fact scares him.

But that happy ending isn't the case,
When I know for a fact he loves when I'm in pain.

"There you go," I mumbled fighting back the urge to cry at the memory. "I shouldn't have written that poem." my mom stood up and her hand landed on my shoulder. "It wasn't your fault." she told me.

I simply shrugged her hand off of me and walked to the door. My hand gripped the door knob and I stood there for a moment hoping my mom would say something else but instead she stood there looking down at the ground.

I slowly twisted the door knob, cracking the door open just a little bit. "Spencer," my mom said making my head whip around; all of my hope once again feeling up just to be brought down by the finished sentence. "Call me when you get there."

"He broke my phone." I said nonchalantly. Seeing that she had nothing else to say I left the room fully, not glancing back once. On my way downstairs I heard my father talking on the phone. Curious I put my ear up to the door.

I could here him yelling harshly into the phone while quick taps sounded. That just indicated that he was pacing back and fourth.
"I'll give you what you want but just make sure that she doesn't get it-"

"You know, curiosity killed the cat." someone said from behind me. I turned around and placed a hand over my heart before seeing that it was just Ian, my dads assistant. I knew better to respond so I carried on with my business making my way out to the front where my white jeep was parked and before I knew it, I was out on the road.

The drive to my destination went by faster than I thought it would. If I had a say, this would be the first day in New York City that didn't have traffic. No one was rushing around to get things done- everything was peaceful for once.

It was great seeing this as a way to get my mind of things and be at peace for once in my life. Parking, I got out of the car and made my way into the building. I stopped by the front desk and the ladies eyes widened when I told her who I was.

"Mrs. Hastings, you are a minute late to the meeting so if I were you I would get moving," she rushed out. "Mr. Cavanaugh will not be pleased- follow me."

I practically ran to keep up with the lady. By the time we reached Mr. Cavanaugh's office I was out of breath. "Good luck." she whispered to me. I nodded and entered the room.

"Your late." the guy stated, turning his chair around in a creepy manner. "I'm-"
"Do not apologize," he said slightly annoyed. "Sit down."

I did as he said and waited for further question or instruction. "Spencer. . . Jill. . . Hastings," he smirked suddenly. "Spencer Jill Hastings." he repeated looking up to me.

"That would be me." I mumbled looking down at my hands. He stood up and walked around the desk so that he was in front of me. Knelling down his smirk widened.

"You know your dad called me." he informed me. My eyes widened a little. "I did not know that." I responded closing my eyes waiting for him to hurt me already but to my surprise I felt his knuckles linger over my cheek softly.

"He told me that there was a chance you'd be coming and not to hire you." I have no idea how my dad could make an excellent assumption but didn't question it. For all I knew, one of his workers could have told him. I stood up ready to leave, knowing that there was no chance I got the job but Mr. Cavanaugh grabbed my arm making me wince in pain.

He let go quickly and I backed away. Anger flashed in his eyes as he strolled over to me and I was positive that I was gonna get hit this time. Once again it didn't come. My eyes opened and I looked up at Mr. Cavanaugh's blue orbs.

Trapped in his eyes I hadn't notice that he began pulling my jacket off. He was pulling off a door that made it impossible for me to say, I'm okay. A door that revealed so much, yet not enough.

My scars.