7. Fury

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I wake up this morning in the comfort of my bed, with the cover perfectly fitting my body. I sit up with my head feeling dazed, and my vision blurry. My eyes feels puffy. Have I been crying? I don't recall because it's not only my vision that's blurry, but also my memory. I slowly get up from my bed and walk over to my dresser's mirror. As I walk to my dresser, I see a tiny flashlight near the corner of my eyes, but it's not too bright. I stop in front of the mirror and stare at myself. My eyes are red and puffy. I look like I just experienced a car wreck. As I stare at myself in the mirror with confusion, I see my dad laying unconscious on the floor in the corner of my mirror.

That's when it all the memory start to flow back.

Last night, my dad tried to rape me. Something stopped him. Something or someone. It was last night, when I was asleep and I woke from a nightmare. I woke up to find him on top of me. He was touching me in the wrong spots. Kissing me in the wrong spots. I tried to push him off from me, but he was too heavy. When I finally gave up, something or someone got him off me.

After that, my memory goes fuzzy. But I do remember I was crying. But something else happened. I don't know what it is, but I know something else happened.

I stand over my father, who's now half awake. As I stand there just watching the man who tried to rape me, which did I mention was my father. I start trembling, like there's an earthquake within me.

I can't handle it anymore, the pressure, life, the pretending everything was fine act, the I don't care act. I can't handle it anymore. I feel my legs give away underneath me. I fell right by the man who was going to rape me a couple hours ago, and I cry.

I cry because that man is my father.

I can't say I hate him, I feel it, but I can't say it. I know I hate every piece of him, but I can't actually bring myself to say the actual word. It's not like I feel bad for him. NO, I actually don't give two pieces of shits of what he does. He chose his lifestyle, not me. It's the fact that he is my father, and unlike the other type of kids in the world who can easily loath their parents, I just can't bring myself to hate my parents. Even with the way they treat me I can't bring myself to say it; I mean no one is really perfect, right?.

But right now for what he'd done to me, I hate him more than ever. I hate every piece of him.

But why can't myself to do the task? Why can't I get up, grab the damn phone and dial 911, and get his fucking ass to rot in jail? Why can't I bring myself to do the fucking task?

I turn myself into a ball, by tucking myself in, and try to shut myself out from the world. In between sobs I hear movements. I straighten myself, though still I'm still in sitting position; still not sure I should trust my legs yet. I see my father move. I slowly back away to the wall and press myself against the wall. Out of nowhere, the fear that I was just a moment experience is now replaced by fury. He start to mumble something, but that only make my inside fury go level up to danger mode. He sits up, and I press harder against the wall, with my fingers curl into a fist, ready for anything that happen. When my inside fury is on its danger level, I never can really guess what can happen next.

He start to crawl towards me, while apologizing. I start to shake, my inside started to shake, I didn't know what to do, I don't know what's going to happen next. He reach up to me, and reaches for my hair; but right before he touches it a power surge goes through me, and I grab his wrists, and held it in a firm grip. He struggles against my force,

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he says 

There's something wrong with him. He doesn't look normal. he didn't look like a rapist or anything but it's his eyes. His eyes, something's off with his eyes. I know my dad when he's drunk, I've seen it to many times not to know; but right now his eyes are different. I pause my thoughts from the thinking further, why the fuck do I care? Oh wait that's right, I don't.

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