He wasn't feeling merciful.

"Where were you last night, Sum?" her father sneered, slamming his scotch onto the bar table. She stepped back, feeling a coldness creeping up her legs, her spine. She felt rooted to the ground, but she knew she could run. She could run, and hide, just get out of the house. But he'd kill her. That's what he told her, and everyone knew he was a man that lived up to his word.

"I was, I was-" Summer was lost for words.

"I'll tell you what you was," her father snapped, waving his hands dramatically, his face dotted with dark stubble and walking the unsteady walk of a man far above the alcohol limit, "You was out telling people weren't you?"

"No, daddy, I'd never do that." Summer choked.

"Don't lie to me, Sum!" he snapped, "You told!"

"No, I swear! I didn't tell-" she cried. His hand shot out and grabbed her hair and she began to whimper like a dog that has been hit by a car.

"You little liar, you bitch!" he growled, "You're going to pay!"

"No Dad I didn't!" she howled at the roof as her father yanked her by the hair. He dragged her outside, pushing her against walls and furniture, cutting and bruising her everywhere.

"Shut up! You lie!" he said, slapping her across the face. She felt tears sting her eyes, but tried to hide it. He would prey on her weakness, as he was now. She could feel the hunger in his spirit-drenched breath. He wanted her to fall over so he could kick her upwards again. She knew. She'd spent years figuring out what he wanted from her.
She stumbled, but refused to fall. Then she realized where he was taking her. It was the one part of the big house she really hated.

"Daddy, please?" she begged, all tactics lost, "Don't take me there!"

"You will pay for what you've done!" he snapped, shoving her around the side of the house.

She could have screamed. Tried to get help. But no one would help her. No one could ever hear her. She'd already tried before, and suffered for it.

He kicked open the cellar door. There was no alcohol down there anymore though. He had drunk it all, and then took great pleasure in throwing the bottles in. He loved the shatter of the glass. He loved the way Summer screamed and screamed in there, the little jagged pieces of glass maiming her beautiful skin. The delightful glow of the perfect beads of blood caressing her frail body. He loved her agony. Then he'd take her out and make her suffer more.

He began ripping off her clothes so she had nothing to protect her from the cold, hard glass. All the while she whimpered and begged, hoping against hope that he'd change his unreasonable mind and spare her the pain. But he never did. He threw her down there and laughed as she cried.

For most of her life, this sick, disturbed man had tortured his "little princess" and for most of her life Summer Roberts told no one.

And some things in life never change.