Down For The Count

I Didn't Tell

Paisley's POV

I flinched from my spot on the couch when I saw Dad come in the front door, not knowing exactly what was gonna happen next.

"Hey, Paisley." Dad said softly, his voice much gentler than an hour prior when he had been yelling. I watched him sit down on the opposite end of the couch, holding out a brown paper bag. "I got you breakfast. From that little pancake house down the street."

I just kind of stared at the bag, not sure what he wanted me to do. He sighed, putting the bag down on the coffee table. Dad opened his mouth, looking ready to say something before he stopped, frowning as he stared at my cheek.

I watched as he got up, going over to the fridge and pulling out a small ice pack before coming back over. I flinched again as the cold ice pack was gently pressed again my still stinging cheek.

"I didn't mean to." Dad frowned, which is basically how he's been excusing the hitting. We had been doing so good, too. Almost three weeks since the last time, that first time it happened all those nights ago.

"It's okay." I said quietly, even though it was the exact opposite. But it doesn't really matter what I say, because Dad won't stop being weird until I say that it's okay. So for right now, this can be okay.

"Thanks, P." Dad smiled, wrapping his arms around me before I even had time to react. I didn't hug back, remaining stiff and closing my eyes, just waiting for the hug to be over.

He finally did pull away after a while, starting to ramble on about something completely different like we were all good again. Like he didn't hit me an hour ago.

"Hey, um..." Dad started, looking hesitant as he looked at me. "You didn't happen to tell anyone about...you know..."

I slowly shook my head, knowing that I would be in a very bad position if I confessed to telling Eric a few weeks ago about Dad hitting me. Dad smiled, his shoulders dropping a bit as he noticeably relaxed.

"Okay...good. I just...would hate for someone to get involved in something that's not their business...you know? Especially since it was an accident. You know I would never intentionally hurt you." Dad gave me a small smile. I only nodded, not wanting to dive any deeper regarding the topic. "You're so quiet. What's wrong?"

"Just...tired, I guess." I shrugged. That seemed like a good answer for Dad because he nodded, smiling a little as he relaxed back into his seat.

"Are you gonna eat your food?"

I slowly shook my head, trying to focus on keeping the ice pack pressed against my cheek. With everything that's happened this morning, I feel sick. "I'm not really hungry.

Dad frowned, though, looking very unhappy with that answer. "You just complained about there being no food here and I go out and get you food and you don't even want to touch it? Seriously?"

"Sorry." I mumbled, putting the ice pack down  and picking up the brown bag.

This morning I woke up hungrier than I've ever been, but of course there's never really food here. Dad had been working all night, so of course all he wanted to do was sleep, me being whiny about being hungry probably didn't help. He hasn't hit me since that night three weeks ago, I guess I just assumed he wouldn't hit me again since it hadn't happened in so long. Which...was stupid of me to assume. I know better than that.

I looked down at the bag in my lap, feeling Dad staring at me. I knew he was about the push the matter further, but before he could there was a loud knock on the door. Dad sighed out in annoyance as he stood up to go answer it, and I sighed out in relief, putting the bag down on the table and picking the ice pack back up, trying to feel relief on my cheek.