Found

I ran and hid in the rafters above the bed in what had been Ryans room, although while I was climbing up there and listening to the clump clump of my fathers heavy boots - steel based and toe-capped may I add, all the more to kick me with - I realised it was probably a stupid idea, because he would pull me down when he found me and that was going to hurt me more. I heard him check in the last place I had hidden, behind one of the shelves in what used to be our library, now it was a place for spiders to live and dust to multiply. I had coughed too much in there and he had found me almost right away. While he was searching for me in the bathroom, my room, his room, another guest room, all places that were never used apart from my room, I thought about Ryan and what he must be doing with mother, I knew he never returned here and had no intentions to again. I couldn't let anybody know about this, it was all my mothers fault that my father was such a monster and yet I remained so true to him. I am my fathers daughter, and he has the right to me, and needs to trust me. I am the last person on this earth he has.

My thoughts were interrupted when the room door flew open, he grunted and slowly the room filled with the terrible stench of alcohol and old cigarrettes mixed with sweat. I tried not tomove, blink and I might miss something, breathe and I would be heard, move and I would be seen. I watched him move around underneath me, smashing little ornaments that Ryan had prided when he was a kid, but left behind in his haste to pack and leave. I remember that day, when he came back to get his clothes and most prized possessions.

I stood leaning against Ryans wooden door frame, he had a huge suitcase sitting on the floor and was throwing clothes from his drawers and into the bag, he didn't even fold them. Then I saw him take an entire shelf right off the wall and pour its contents right into the suitcase. I threw him a dirty look and almost like he sensed it he looked up, immediately his face softened. Mine didn't.

"Don't look at me like that Shar..." He began, still putting clothes and books into the bag.

"Like what?" I said, coldly.

"Like you don't approve of what I'm doing and you hate me for it." He looked at me again and I uncrossed my arms.

"I just don't get why you're leaving." I muttered and looked at my feet.

"I have to." Ryan tossed the empty shelf on his bed and opened a few more drawers, pouring the contents of them into the bag as well, I looked at him rather pointedly. He continued, "I haven't been happy here and you know that. You should come, Dads drinking, he'll only get worse you know that."
I shook my head, "How can you say that? He is our father." I said and glared at him.

"And she is our mother!"
"So?"
Ryan walked over to me, "Sharpay dad raised his hand to our mother more than once. If you stay here he will only do the same to you and you don't want that to happen to you?" He put his arms around me, I bit my lip and stood there non-responsive.
"I promised him I'd stay."
"Shar..."
"I promised" I repeated and held up my hand, pushing him away. Then I turend around and walked away. That was the last time I saw him in the house ever. This house, a home is supposed to be a sanctuary, a place you feel comfortable and happy. I am never happy here, always at edge never at ease.

My thoughts on the past were inturrupted by a hand on my wrist, I had been found.
"Found ya!" My dads drunken slur came up through the rafters, fallowed by a harsh cackle and then a series of coughing. When he coughed he moved his hand to his mouth to cover it - at least he still had manners - I seized the oppertunity and jumped down from the rafters. Ignoring the pain that seared through my body as I tore through the house and into my room. I shut the door as tightly behind my as I could and felt tears stream down my cheeks, I would never shed a tear in front of another human being but alone I was allowed to cry waterfalls if I felt was necessary. I leaned against the door and heard the heavy boots thumping down the corridor, making the floor shake. Then there was pounding on the door, my father shouted my name. I stayed at the door as long as I could, crying and triyng to block out the harsh noise, the evil shoutings of my father, the curses. Calling me a 'bitch' a 'whore' or a 'slut'. None were true, I was never any of these things but in my fathers drunken state he had no idea what he was doing.

Originally when Ryan and mother had left thee had been a few good times, days when I would come home from school and find no alcohol lying around, the house smelt fresh and my father was sitting watching tv laughing. We would watch movies and eat popcorn, some nights. Most nights were just him sitting with the curtains drawn, seeking help in the form of a glass bottle. No matter what was inside that bottle as long as it had some form of alcohol amount. I had sworn a long time ago I would never drink, I would never become my father, not to my kids not to anyone. I would never be my mother either, I would never abandon my family. I suppose that was just my views on her, she abandoned us and left me to this hell. Sure my father had lifted his hand to her but they had hiodden it well, now my father saw no point in hiding it, our house was huge so nobody would hear the shrieks and shouting, and it was just me now. Just me and him. And for me that meant an uncertain death.

Eventually the pounding and thumping stopped, as did the shouting and my father retired to downstairs. I sighed with relief, I was safe for now, for today I had won the game and he had lost. Tomorrow would be a different story altogether. At having had nothing to vent his anger out on, not being able to use me as a punchbag would take its toll on father and he would only become all the more determined for tomorrow and I knew there would be no escape, he would break the door down if he had to. But for tonight, I was okay. I walked over to my bedside table and opened the tope drawer, underneath two pieces of cloth and in between a small cushion a kept it. The bread knife, it was my little suicide attempt, my little reality check, my just-in-case. Rolling up my sleeve I pressed the knife to my skin and closed my eyes to do what I had to do.

I pulled. The release, the relief and the stress all vanished for a second or two, but then it went away again and everything piled on top. I had to do it again, and again, and again. Over and over, time after time. I seemed not to stop until even my arm was tired. I stood up and washed the knife like nothing was wrong, dried it and put it back. Then I went for a shower, letting the blood drip down and into the drain, covering the shower floor. Somehow this amused me, even though i began to feel a little faint, only a little dizzy. But I got out and lay on my bed anyway, and then I blacked out.

Hey I hope you are enjoying this so far, I know its dark and not what I normally do (is it?) but I just really wanted to do this. I did! So I am. :D Anyway yeah, its darker.
Reviewer Time!

Angel Of The Starz: Thank you very much I am trying to make this story a lot more detailed than the rest of my other ones. Am I succeeding so far?

AlwaysxAddicted: Haha, its supposed to creepy and dark, depressing I suppose. Sad. Thanks though!

-MaDtV-: Thanks for reading and reviewing:P

HSMRocksMySocks: Well...thats just...not going...to happen. Lol. Sorry!!!!

xofalling2deep: Well I hope each chapter willbe better than the last, do tell me if it is or not! Haha, thanks.

Mac'Squeaky: Thanks very much, my imagination thanks you. Glad you like.

ArabellaKye: THANK YOU!

Anyway yeah...I really gotta go but I hope you enjoyed it, thank you.

Coop