"You're late coming home."

Em dropped her bag in the doorway. "A friend took me out to get a burger after school." She didn't look at him. Maybe if she didn't make eye contact, brushed it off as nothing, he wouldn't-

Smack! The strike of her father's hand across her face. "Did I tell you that was allowed?" Father Andrews growled out, hand gripping her neck.

Em gasped labouredly, trying to get as much air as she possibly could. She was used to this sort of treatment but it would never not hurt. She felt like a caged animal. White crept into the corners of her eyes as her oxygen supply slowly diminished.

"Answer me you flithy little bitch." His voice was laced with poison. Every word was utterly toxic.

"Y-You never s-said I couldn't," Em gasped out. She thought about fighting back, about hitting and kicking and punching and shreiking. But she knew better. She knew fighting would make things worse.

"Oh, don't get cheeky with me," her father said with a sickening laugh. He was laughing. He thought this was funny, how she stugged in his grasp How she squirmed and looked like a fish out of water, heaving for breath.

White spots blurred Em's vision when his fist met the side of her head. A searing pain in her eye. It was a Friday, it was the weekend, so he didn't have to be sneaky with where he was marking her. Where he was reminding his daughter of just how much raw power he held over her.

Em's father's grip tightened on her throat and she began to make little choked noises, squirming more. She thought she might get off easy this time but it wasn't going to happen.

Might as well fight back.

Em shrieked as best she could with the strangling hold on her neck and started to thrash about, trying to do anything to make him let go. Anything to make him let her go. That fight or flight instinct had kicked in and right now, she'd chosen flight. Adrenaline pumped through her system. She wanted to leave. She didn't want daddy to hurt her. She didn't want to feel like this. She didn't like being shoved up against the wall like this...

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT FIGHTING BACK?" he shouted. The shouting. It hurt Em's head, it made it absolutely throb. "If you're a good girl, maybe I won't make it hurt too much today."

Em curled up on herself, whimpering. "D-Daddy, please," she tried, voice soft. That wasn't going to help at all, it seemed. He'd grabbed a cane and had it held at the ready. She flinched and braced herself for the repeated blows that left her sore, bruised, and bleeding. With a grunt he yanked her up and shoved her against the wall again. "Now go be a good girl and cook dinner. I'm going to clean the church." Footstepps thudded softly against the carpet. And then he was gone.

She tried to stand. She wanted to stand but she couldn't. Em remained doubled over in pain, terrified. Utterly petrified by fear. It all hurt. It ached, it stung, it bled, it hurt. Why did he have to hurt her? She didn't understand. Maybe he was right. Many times she'd wondered if he really was right, about her being a slut. A whore. A disgrace. The reason mom left. A bastad child.

Em's walking didn't last long. As soon as she made it to the kitchen her hands clutched the counter until her knuckles were white and she craned her neck over the sink, retching violently and emtying her stomach. There wasn't much in there to empty but her stomach continued to turn inside out over and over again. After about half an hour she was left sweating, pale, and trembling.

And she still had yet to make dinner.