((A/N: Thanks to my mystery reviewer whom I've lovingly dubbed Triple Question-Mark Man/Lady. This one was hard to write for two reasons- one, because I LOATHE her father but love writing as him because he is such a bastard; and two, I feel so terrible putting Angela through this. XD Then again, this IS her backstory, I'm just retelling it. Yes. I'm gonna keep telling myself that... enjoy, my reader minions!
Oh, if any of you were wondering, "angel aridente" means "burning angel" in spanish. :3 Orosco is a spanish name, right? ...Right?))
"Angela!"
His voice made her cringe even when he wasn't in the room. She'd taken refuge upstairs after dinner, escaping relatively scot-free. Unfortunately it seemed he wasn't through with her. She crept downstairs hesitantly, pausing in the doorway to the darkened living room and listening to the buzz of the television.
"Yes, daddy?"
He motioned, indicating it was all right for her to approach. She stood to the side of the armchair, keeping her gaze firmly glued to the floor
"Look at me," he commanded, and she slowly raised her eyes to his face. He smiled.
"Come sit with your old dad."
She gaped wordlessly at him as alarm bells went off in her head. He never acted this way. He could be tolerant, he could be neutral, he could be all manners of infuriated, violent or cruel- but never pleasant. Ever.
She couldn't quite figure out a proper response. A vague feeling of unease settled in the pit of her stomach as she considered her options. The safest was to listen to him- but the longer she stayed, the more likely he was to lose his temper.
His eyes narrowed at her hesitation. "What's the matter with you? Sit down!"
She jumped at his bark and looked around, noting the lack of other chairs. "…On the f-floor?" she asked quietly.
"Of course not!" he said irritably. "Come here."
She hesitated again, out of her element. His thick hand shot out and wrapped around her slim forearm, jerking her sharply towards him. She gasped and stumbled forwards, and he maneuvered her so she sat clumsily in his lap. She looked at him, shocked and terrified he'd take offense- and he just grinned mischievously.
"There, that's better."
She was beyond confused. Normally he could barely tolerate her presence, and now he was inviting her to sit with him in such close proximity? The entire situation was unreal. Perhaps it was the alcohol. They cloying, sour smell hung in the air like smoke… though usually drinking made him violent, not affectionate.
She flinched as she felt his hand on her back. He glanced at her, seeming almost surprised at her reaction. "Easy," he muttered, making no move to hit her as she'd expected. She calmed when after a few minutes he'd still not threatened violence. In fact the entire experience was sort of nice. She never spent time with him like this since she was at least 5 years old. Allowing her guard down for the moment, as he seemed to have no intention of hurting her, she let herself slowly relax, even leaning slightly against him when he prompted.
She tensed as he wrapped his arms around her stomach, but again he did not hurt her as she'd thought. She squirmed a bit uncomfortably and he glared at her in a way that made her immediately still. Considering the situation, she was in awe at the treatment she was receiving. Looking back, she noticed he hadn't struck her all day. He'd snapped at her in the morning to hurry up and turn off her alarm, he'd grumbled at dinner about her burning it, but not once had he actually hurt her.
And now they were cuddling.
Unbelievable.
…Maybe he was changing his ways. She knew it was foolish to think a single day of kindness meant he was planning to be nice to her from now on. Her cynical side was screaming that it was all a ploy and she knew it was probably right… but she wanted it to be true. She wanted to believe they could be friends again, like when she was little…
She found herself reminiscing about a day when she was around 7 years old. It was early November, and the leaves were changing into gorgeous shades of yellow, orange and deep red. There was a carnival in town, the last of the season. He hadn't quite become the alcoholic degenerate he was now; he still attempted to act as a responsible father. Closing her eyes, slipping easily into the memory--
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his hand snaking up under her sweater. She tried to stand before his grip around her waist tightened, keeping her in place. She twisted around to stare at him in alarm, and he grinned at her.
"W-what--?"
"Shh," he whispered, "just relax." She gaped at him in disgust before springing to her feet, surprising him with her speed. He glared at her, melting her bravado quickly. "Didn't you like it?" He growled in a dangerous tone, raising himself to his feet. She cringed and took a step back.
"D-daddy, please…"
"Can't you see I'm doing you a favor?" He continued, smiling twistedly as he slowly approached her. The brief sense of safety she'd had vanished, leaving her with a cold feeling of dread. This whole thing was a bad idea…
"See, you're too ugly, stupid and selfish to get a guy of your own," he snarled, voice laced with venom. He had backed her up against a wall, she was starting to get panicked- there was nowhere to go. He grabbed her chin and tilted her head back, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
"Face it," he hissed, voice dropping to a whisper, "you know you loved it, you little slut." And with that, he leaned back and delivered a quick punch, catching the terrified girl off guard as he got her straight in the face. She fell to her knees, gasping in pain and protecting her face instinctively. He proceeded to kick her in the ribs, knocking the air out of her.
"Just like your mother, you know you liked it," she heard him laugh through the haze of pain. He'd gotten her good. Her head was spinning, colored spots floated lazily across her vision, and black mist hovered in the edges of her sight. She considered allowing herself to sink into the blissful nothingness…
He was undoing her belt.
He was undoing her belt.
He was leering, smirking, laughing- and he was UNDOING HER BELT!
NO!
She lashed out with her feet, attempting to kick him away. He managed to dodge; she was still sluggish and weak from his earlier attack. She'd thought that would enrage him- he just laughed mockingly.
"So you like it rough?" His hand closed over her throat, cutting off her air supply. He leaned over, grinning, to hiss in her ear, "So do I."
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't see, she couldn't hear and she couldn't stop him and he hurt her (oh god please no) he hurt her in ways she never thought he would (daddy please stop it) there was no sound but the blood rushing in her ears (it hurts) there was nothing but fear and pain (someone please) and it felt like it lasted forever until she sank into blessed unconsciousness.
(save me)
Some time later she found herself curled on the floor, lit only by the blue glow of the television. She glanced over at the armchair where he was sleeping, snoring in blissful unawareness. She took a deep, shuddering breath and collected herself, suppressing all thoughts and emotions. She forced herself not to think about it, to focus only on the slow and steady rhythm of breathing.
She pulled her clothing on robotically and went back upstairs, taking small comfort in the quiet and stillness of the house. Her room was dark and she didn't bother turning on the light. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and shook with revulsion. Her skin felt like it was crawling, she felt grimy and tainted and impure. She wanted to both scream and never speak again; she wanted to tear the memory straight from her mind…
And for the first time, she wanted to kill him.