I woke with a start. Noises were coming from Grace's nursery.
Shuffling down the hall, I looked in. Greg stood looking at her.
"Thanks for getting her, Greg."
I walked downstairs to the kitchen where I saw Greg passed out on top of his laptop. Grace.
I tore back to her room. "No!"
Yellow eyes bore into mine. With a flick of his hand, I was stuck to the wall and sliding toward the ceiling.
"You evil son of a b!tch, go back to hell where you belong," I spat at it.
"That's no way to talk to me. We had a deal."
Just like that he was gone.
"Greg!"
Heavy footsteps plodded into the room. He looked up and shouted. At that moment flames engulfed my body.
***
I screamed myself awake for the third time that night. He wanted me. I wasn't going to let him get me.
Yellow eyes. He haunted my dreams and I have no clue why.
"Would you shut up before I make you."
I cowered under my sheets though he was in an entirely different room. "Yes, sir."
I'm 12 years old and deadly afraid of my father.
***
~*4 years later*~
I heard the front door slam. I glanced at my clock. 1:35 AM. Great.
Their argument kept growing in intensity from the kitchen. They my dad's girlfriend screamed. I could hear the echo of the slap in my room.
My anger built and built. This was the final time. I loved her like a mother.
I lurched out of bed and flew into the kitchen. I blindly started punching Greg. It came to a halt when his hand squeezed my trachea closed. I couldn't breathe.
"Greg, let her go! Please! You're killing her!"
He laughed, "I know," and squeezed harder.
My eyes searched for help. I found it. My knee connected with his groin.
I fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. On my hands and knees I crawled to my room.
Shoving clothes into my backpack, I decided I had to leave. If I didn't my father would kill me in one of his drunken rages.
I slid out of my window and into the darkness. I took my life into my own hands.