Bully (In Edit)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The roar of the TV greeted me as soon as I opened the door.

My dad was home.

I tried to close the door as quietly as possible, so as not to let my dad know I was here.

And failed.

"Emma, you scum bag!!! You're late!!! You've left me starving!!!! Get in here right now!!!"

Obviously my silent door shutting skills needed work.

Shaking with fear, I walked into the kitchen and put down my bag on the table, before scampering into the living room to face my dad.

My dad was a fat, muscly man with a ferocious face. Veins bulged around his eyes and his height allowed him to tower over my small body. In the picture I had of my mum with my dad, my dad had thick, blonde hair, but any remains of this head of hair were long gone, as were the wide grin, the soft caring look in the eyes and the friendly, open body language. He now generally looked like the kind of person that you wouldn't want to mess with.

That was probably because he was the sort of person that you wouldn't want to mess with.

"Where have you been, scum?" he growled at me.
"Just at school, dad, I came as quickly as I could," I mumbled, my eyes fixed on the floor.
"So all this time you were in that stupid mad house, a pointless waste of time, and you weren't looking after me? You didn't think about your old dad, did you? He's been working hard to supply you with food and a roof, yet you couldn't even bother to cook him some dinner, or clean the house, could you?"

He seemed to lack any understanding of the delusional words pouring from his mouth like a cruel fountain. I was used to it though, this happened day after day, to the extent that I started to believe what he said. It was all I ever heard.

He hauled himself up off the couch and stumbled over to me, causing me to quake with fear, and begin to take tentative steps backward, in a desperate attempt to increase the distance between us. The stench of alcohol was also already present in his breath, causing further alarm bells to ring in my mind.

My back eventually connected with the wall, but that didn't stop my dad from advancing closer and closer.

This was a very bad situation.

Coming to a stop in front of me, for a second he stood there, before forcing his hand under my chin and pushing my head up so I was looking at him.

His blood shot eyes ran over my face, before reconnecting with my gaze. His eyes narrowed, and a single word escaped from his lips.

"Worthless."

Then, lifting his fist with frightening agility, he punched me in the face, his solid hand crashing into my cheek, as if he thought he could punch some sense into me.

The impact sent me crashing downwards, collapsing into a heap on the floor. Biting back tears, my hand moves up to clutch my face as blood started to drip from my nose.

I didn't want to let my blood fall on the carpet - that would only give him more reason to be annoyed at me, and more to do later.

"Cook my dinner, now," he said, his voice full of threat.

After looking down at me with disgust from his great height, almost miffed at my reaction and display of weakness, he walked out of the room, muttering to himself about how useless I was, as I lay, a pool of blood mixed with salty, bitter tears dripping from my face into my outstretched hand.