15-year old Angela hated walking home from school.

Then again, she also hated going to school, so she had a problem on her hands. She was a nobody at school. She had no friends because she never talked to anyone. The teachers thought she was a crazy goth kid, so they didn't bother her. She knew people laughed at her behing her back because of her unfashionable clothes and haircut, because of the way she acted. It didn't bother her a lot because she'd never really had any friends, but she wished that they'd just leave her alone. Other students were fond of putting disgusting things in her locker, or tripping her, or "accidentally" sending all of her books flying across the hallway after they "accidentally" shoved her into a wall. She could endure it, though. She never complained. She never made trouble. Making waves means making enemies. She'd been taught that long ago.

She hesitated on the sidewalk, pausing before entering the house. Part of her was screaming at her to take the chance to just run. Don't go inside, don't listen to him, don't face him a single time more, just go. Be free again.

But she quelled her other side. No, she couldn't do that. Her life of being beaten into a submissive, obedient daughter easily triumphed over dreams of grandeur. She turned the doorknob, suppressed a shudder, and entered.

The house was dark, and she winced as the sharp scent of alcohol pierced her senses- not that it was unusual; it just meant she'd have to tread carefully today. Thomas Orosco preferred to enjoy the fuzzy blur of alcoholism in front of the television, with absolutely no distractions. Since the living room was in the center of the house, she'd just have to lay low and keep quiet to avoid disturbing him.

A low growl came from the armchair. "You're finally home." No such luck of anonymity today. The sound of his rough voice froze her in her tracks. "Get me a cold one from the fridge." She nodded stiffly and started to walk to the kitchen. Years of conditioning made her respond to his demands like a pathetic, broken little machine.

Jump.

How high, sir?

Run.

How far, sir?

Cut.

How deep, sir?

She pulled open the refrigerator door and felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.

It was empty.

There was nothing.

Not the drink he wanted, no food, nothing. She felt her body go numb and her throat constrict with fear. Thomas always got what he wanted…

She slowly went back into the living room, noting the many empty bottles littering the floor and swallowing nervously. He hardly glanced at her, only muttering a short "Well?"

"Daddy… the fridge, i-it…"

"Spit it out!"

She winced as she heard the venom in his voice. He was a bear rousing himself to bat aside the pest bothering him…

"D-daddy, the refrigerator is empty… I… I'm s-sorry…"

"Angela," he began in a dangerously quiet voice. She cringed and stepped back slowly. She knew that tone.

"Please, I…"

"I told you to go shopping, Angela."

"I-I-I'm sorry, I… there was no money and…"

He stood up.

He actually raised his heavy frame from his armchair throne to turn and face her, the insignificant servant who so carelessly angered him again. She cringed and shrank back, trying to make herself as small and non-challenging as possible.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, the mantra both an apology and a plea.

His swift backhand was expected, striking her face sharply. She did not cry out. She knew at this point her voice would only anger him more.

"Worthless bitch," he snarled, striking her again. "Too selfish to do anything for your old dad?" He had already worked himself up- hiding was no use. She forced her muscles to relax, trying to remain supple to better absorb his blows. The best course of action now was complete submission.

Honor thy father and thy mother…

Eventually, he tired and sank back into his chair, leaving his quivering daughter on the floor.

"Wallet's on the shelf," he grumbled.

She coughed, wincing as her hand came away with blood. "Y-yes, daddy."

"Don't forget again."

"No, daddy."

"That's my girl," he muttered grudgingly, turning his attention back to the television. She nodded weakly and crawled to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and breathing slowly, rasping slightly. She was in pain, but she would live. She was safe now. He had used up his energy. He would leave her alone… She glanced warily towards the living room and noticed she had bled on the floor.

It was beginning to stain.

Eyes darting to her father, knowing it would be another fight, she pulled herself painfully upwards and went to find the paper towels.