Chapter One: An Unfortunate Day in the Life of Me
I sighed, the light began shining through my useless orange curtains. The rain continued pelting lightly against my window as the sun rose higher and higher above the horizon. Damn sun, why must you wake me up every morning? I slid my feet over the edge of the bed to touch the cold hardwood floor, shivering at contact, and managed to get out of bed without stumbling over anything.
Slowly, I put on my navy blue penguin slippers, chewed up curtosy of my beagle Nike. I walked over to the calendar and ran my finger swiftly down the dates until I found Sunday. Ah! How could I forget?! Today's the final game of my college basketball team and I haven't shot a hoop in nearly three days! Hastily, I scrambled to my closet and threw out what resembled clothes, and changed out of my pajamas. I had ripped and worn out used-to-be-skinny jeans, a sports bra, one of my thousands of baggy shirts, and my mismatching, beaten up, teal blue and pale red converse.
I slid down the stairs on the railing and ran to the garage for my basketball. It used to be orange, but now it's more like dark brown with a hint of khaki in certain especially worn down places. I grabbed it and ran out the open garage door to practice. I dribbled a few times, and shot. Yes! Made it. I dribbled again, stepped farther from the hoop, and shot. The ball bounced and spun on the rim, then fell in. I practiced for what seemed like 3 or 4 minutes before dad came out, inhaling deeply to start yelling.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?! THE FINAL GAME IS TODAY AND YOU'RE JUST OUT HERE GOOFING AROUND!!" He yelled loudly for all the neighborhood to hear.
"What does it look like I'm doing? Basketball. For the game, which yes, is today. Congrats on remembering." I replied in a smart elic tone.
"DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE I'M STUPID!!"
"Why not? Am I supposed to talk to you as if you were smart?" I ask, grinning.
"WHAT!? YES YOU ARE. AND WIPE THAT STUPID SMILE OF YOUR FACE BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!" He screamed, walking closer to me. I stepped back, bracing myself with the basketball in hand.
"Go ahead, I dare you." I say just before he slaps me hard across the face. It started throbbing and stinging.
"You hit me again and I'll kick you so hard in the **** you'll piss sideways!" I yelled, burning with anger.
He tries to sucker punch me and I dodge, only to be smacked again, on the same side he hit me the first time. The wound felt raw, starting to burn and tingle unpleasantly. I threw my ball at his face and balled my fists, ready to fight him. I hadn't fought with my father like this for almost a whole week. Yeah, that's considered a lot for us. I thought we were finally getting somewhere, I was wrong. Clearly.
"Stupid bastard! THAT ****ING HURT!" I shout, kicking him right between his legs, spinning to kick him in the stomach with my other foot, then punching him right in the nose. Blood started dripping from his nostrils and I smirked. Who's getting their ass beaten now?
"You little bitch, you're gonna wish you didn't do that!" He half-yells, holding his nose.
"What are you gonna do? Bleed on me?"
"I'm going to beat the **** out of you after the game!"
"Why not now? You've already got it started with this big ass mark on my cheek."
"You can't play basketball if I beat you up. Dumbass."
"Oh really? If you beat me up? Does this consist of me kicking your ass and you telling me you'll get me?" I ask, smiling.
"YOU DIDN'T DO **** TO ME!" He yells, kicking me square in the gut.
I cough uncontrolably, falling down to my knees. That son of a bitch kicks hard like a horse. It most hurts because one it's right in my stomach and two because he's so damn huge. Huge refering mostly to the fat that hangs off him like flubber. I feel warm liquid coming up my throat, and cover my mouth my with hands. Blood again. I spit it out on the pavement. Practically vomiting blood, I manage to stand up to look my father in the eyes. I closed my mouth so the blood can gather, then spat right between his eyes. Then, trying my best not to limp, I walked back inside.
Does this seem wrong or is it just me? Yeah. My dad does something like this to me every time he forgets to take his medicine. Which is pretty much every other day. He's a total bitch about everything. It's been this way since my grandpo died. Grandpo is my mom's dad, and since he died it's like she lost all her emotions other than pity and sadness. She sees dad beat me and all she can say is "Please stop." or "You're going to kill her." and she just stands back and watch. He's been beating me since I joined competitive sports. I used to be into soccer, but then dad told me more people get into basketball and forced me to switch. Every time I missed a shot during a practice game at home he'd hit me with whatever was around. If there wasn't anything, he'd use his bare hands. I usually ran away or took off my shoe and threw it at him. Sometimes I was daring enough to smack him or kick him back. This has been going on since I was about 5 or 6 years old. Now that I'm older, I can fight back effectively, but he's still bigger than me. So I usually sustain as many injuries as he does, if not more.
I ran up the stairs to my room, slammed my door, and stumbled to my bathroom, closing the door behind me. I looked in the mirror, my blonde hair is tipped in my blood from when I was spewing it out. I sighed loudly in frustration. I wouldn't get any of this if I could keep my mouth shut. I do have a mouth on me, and gets me into some serious ****. I brushed my teeth and tongue, rinsing twice to get all the blood out. I smiled in the mirror to check my teeth. Didn't miss a spot. I grinned to myself. Turning the warm water on, I grabbed a towel, dampened it with the tap and patted my face lightly with it. The wound on my cheek was a little pinky, but it wasn't stinging anymore. He slapped me hard, but not hard enough to leave a real mark unlike usual. I glanced at the clock- 2PM. The game was at 3:30PM, and I can't wait. Basketball is like my escape. I feel most comfortable on the court. Nobody cares about anything, they're just there to watch you win. And that's what I'm there for. To win.
I brushed my hair out as well as I could and put it up in a tiny ponytail. I cut my hair just a few days ago. It used to cascade down my back and shoulders, but it was getting harder and harder to put into my hat so I just chopped it all off. Yeah I know it sounds dumb but in basketball and pretty much all sports, girls are looked down on. So I've always put a hat on, hidden my hair in my hat and my face with my long bangs. Nobody really notices that I'm a girl, since I'm only a B-cup, wear baggy shirts that go over my waist, and loose pants. I just say I'm short and they don't ask me any more about my figure. I pass for a boy pretty nicely, I must say. I don't own any dresses, skirts, jewelery, or anything remotely girly. Except lipbalm.. It tastes good and it stops your lips from getting chapped. Two in one.
I took my hat off the counter, shoved my hair into it, and pulled my bangs over my face. Now I was me. Smothering my lips in lip balm, I opened the door to consult the man I cringe to call my father.