Somewhere

Chapter Seven

Sinclair

Standing up I tucked away rogue pieces of my hair and walked to the bookstores entrance. I gave Aiden and Liona a nod of departure. Opening the door I felt the chill air seep into my wool cardigan. My attire doing little to secure my body heat in. Shivering, I made my way down to the roads intersection and waited for the walking post to brighten. Fact: Approximately 20% of people waiting for the light end up mugged. As they try to protect themselves serious wounds are left as a reminder. Tapping my foot irritably I felt dread clump in my stomach at what's to come. I saw the red light above illuminate the cars that came to a halt, coating the street in cherry red. Glaring at its ominous coloring I stalked forward. Heading up the cemented walkway of my two-story house. Hand on the doorknob I hesitated. Fact: Fear is caused by a belief that one is dangerous produces the flight or fight instinct. It takes an abundance of willpower to ignore it. Blood rushing in my ear, my stomach rumbled and turned with unease. Finally mucking up a small abundance of courage I walked up the unwelcoming porch and wretched open the door.
Looking around I saw the faint glow of the T.V. illuminating the floors. Going towards the illuminance Langdon sat there, beer tipping in his hands an orange blanket cradled him while soft snores sounded from his lips. Stepping forward I hesitantly wrapped my fingers around the perspiration of the bottle. Lifting it forward I turned over and placed on the table beside the couch. Satisfied by not disturbing him I turned back to shut off the television. Darkness enveloped me in its musky depths, danger lurked beneath its mask. I felt the predatorial eyes of my father gaze down upon me, minisculity became me. Shakily wrapping my arms round my arms around my torso, I smelt the dank, alcoholic stench in his breaths. "I wasn't finished with my beer." Sensing the opressed bomb brewing in his voice i stumble towards the kitchen. "M-my mistake, I thought you were sleeping so-" I felt pain bloom from the tendrils of my hair, my head at the mercy of his hands. Thrashing my head upright I struggled to lessen the pain by standing on my toes. Tears streamed down my cheeks in short, butterfly touches. "What have I told you about crying little one?" Breath fanning over my cheek, and hands tightening around my hair I yelped at the blossoming pain dwelving in my scalp. Pushing against his chest I screamed, hoping for the neighbors to come to my rescue(not that they have before). Cursing under his breath he clapped his hand over my mouth, sweat from his palms coating my face making it hard to breath. Thrashing in his arms he walked down the hallway. When he made it halfway down he threw my body into the walls. A pop was sound and my arm throbbed: like a flame was set onto my bones. Screaming till my throat scratched, I felt saliva curdle at the tips of my lips and coating his hand. Throwing me into his room he shut the door and let the lock's click sound throughout the room. Looking over the windows I rushed to one. Yanking up the sill my attempts were feeble, the sill was coated over with layers of paint. Turning back Langdon eyes were shadowed from the light swaying overhead. Stalking slowly towards me his hands slowly grazed the loops of his pants. "Did I ever tell you you looked identical to your mother?" Nodding my head I whispered, "When she was alive you used to tell us it was like looking at pictures of her younger self." Smiling he wrapped his fingers around my forearms, making wimpers escape my lips. "Yeah but now your more of the fugly duckling compared to her. I remember the first night I laid my eyes on you, and the first thing I asked Clementine was to send you to the fucking orphanage." Shaking my head, hiccupps escaped my blubbering lips. "Please don't, I'm your daughter. Your wifes' daug-" Pain rippled on my cheek, like pins stabbing my skin agonizingly slow. "Shut the fuck up Sin. It's your fault she's gone! Your fucking pathetic life killed her, so I'm going to drag out your inevitable death painful and slow." Pulling up my shirt he chuckled while grazing the skin exposed on my stomach, pushing into the bruises with the pad of his thumb. "You deserve this," he mumbled. Closing my eyes I tried to numb myself, become oblivious to the wreckage before me. Body slumping forward I felt unconcousness at the tips of my fingers. Facts: 35% of people are susceptible to death while having a wound producing unconsciousness. Right before I sunk into its murkey waters I heard one last remark from the abomination himself. "Now this won't hurt a bit... Well for me atleast." Before I blacked out.

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