AN: Starting Pre-Walking Dead
Kali POV:
I lay in my bed, my eyes fixed on the alarm clock's glowing digits as they blinked, 6 am. I knew I had to get up soon, but the warmth of my bed and the comfort of my blankets were too tempting to resist. I didn't want to face another day of loneliness, but I had to make a choice: stay in this cramped bedroom, or leave the house before my father woke up. The boys weren't home. Merle, well I never quite know where he is. And Daryl went out hunting, he liked the solitude. Who knows how many days he'd be out there, typically no more than 3 if I was around.
In context, two years ago, my mother, Roseanna nearly OD'd, and my dad was awarded full custody of me. I don't know if it was a blessing or a curse that I ended up in this shabby trailer park, rather than in Atlanta with my mother, who was too high to even notice my existence. But in this bleak existence, there was one silver lining: my older brother Daryl. We weren't particularly close, but he was the only blood I trusted.
I was 14 then, 16 now. At least there were no longer long ass trips every other month between houses. I couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh as I glanced at the clock: it was already 6:15, and I knew I had to get up. Without bothering to change out of my acid-wash jeans and graphic tee, I dragged myself out of bed. My dyed blond hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a deliberate choice to distinguish myself from my mother. I was determined not to be anything like her. After scanning the hallway to make sure it was empty, I headed into the kitchen. The cramped space was open concept, making the living room and kitchen feel like one.
I moved to start brewing some coffee, the sound of my father's voice startled me. I hadn't realized he was awake, and his recliner had been facing away from the kitchen. How had I missed that? Then again, he was usually passed out at this early in the morning. No doubt, usually hungover. Maybe I should have snuck out the back door instead of trying to make a hot drink.
"I hope that coffee's for me," he said in his usual gruff tone.
"I thought you'd prefer a beer," I quipped, my frustration seeping through. Oops, that was probably not the smartest thing to say. Everyone knew he had a drinking problem, but it wasn't a topic we talked about. I was sick of feeling like I had to walk on eggshells around him, though.
"Don't get smart with me, girl," he snapped as he stood up, his eyes burning into me. The look of anger made me flinch, as it always did. But this time, I refused to show it.
"Whatever," I couldn't help but roll my eyes at him, breaking eye contact and angling my back towards the front door. I had learned at a young age that having an exit strategy was always a good idea, especially when dealing with my father.
"Hey!" he barked, advancing towards me. "I need this place cleaned by 5. I'm having people over. I'm going to work." As he brushed past me, I tensed up, expecting the worst. But to my surprise, he didn't hit me or even touch me. He left no room for argument, though, as he stormed out of the trailer. I furrowed my brow, feeling a sudden sense of confusion. I was pretty sure he had been fired from his job as the local plumber two weeks ago. So where was he really going?
I made myself breakfast and savored the rare feeling of having the trailer to myself. It was always the most peaceful when my father wasn't around. With nothing better to do and no school to occupy my time (it was the beginning of summer after all), I resigned myself to doing what I was told. I started with the dishes, scrubbing away the remnants of my meal as I gazed out the tiny window above the sink. The view wasn't much to look at - just a patch of overgrown grass and the rickety fence that separated our yard from the neighbor's - but it was better than staring at the blank walls of the trailer, I tackled the living room, picking up discarded beer bottles and sweeping the dirt and dust from the corners. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks, and I groaned inwardly at the thought of having to mop it up later. But I knew better than to leave anything a mess. I couldn't help but feel a sense of bitterness toward my father. It wasn't fair that I had to clean up after his messes, both literal and figurative. But I also knew that complaining wouldn't change anything. I just had to grit my teeth and get through it.
As the clock struck 4:30, I had finally finished cleaning the entire trailer. I couldn't wait to wash my hands and take a break, but as luck would have it, my father arrived back with three of his "work buddies". As they entered the living room, my father's friends turned to stare at me, their eyes scrutinizing my every move. I felt like a rabbit caught in a trap, completely vulnerable and helpless. My heart skipped a beat as I tried to make myself invisible, hoping they wouldn't notice me and be able to disappear to my room, any of that confidence from earlier was gone just like that. Better yet, I decided to make a quick escape to Daryl's trailer next door, where I knew I could find some peace and quiet. It was the one place I felt safe and could truly be myself. I swore the only reason he stayed in this shit-hole town was for me and Merle. A small part of me felt guilty for that, he hated our father more than any of us.
But my father barked at me to stay put. I stopped in my tracks. I knew from experience that these gatherings usually meant a night of drinking and shouting, something I wanted no part of. They were always rowdy and obnoxious, and I hated being around them. The fact that I didn't recognize these guys as his normal crew, I tried to keep a straight face and act like everything was normal. However, it was hard to shake the unease that had settled deep in my gut.
"The place looks good," My father's sudden niceness was alarming, making me more nervous as his new friends made themselves at home. I watched as they began opening a bag and unloading saran-wrapped blocks onto our coffee table. I eyed them warily, I knew what it was. Yeah, time to get out of here.
"I was heading out to Daryl's... He's expecting me," I lied, hoping to make my escape before things got any worse. But my father saw right through my excuse and his demeanor changed to the one I was all too familiar with.
"Get our guests some beers," he said, his voice low, "And don't be rude to our guests."
I reluctantly grabbed some beers from the fridge and handed them to the strangers, avoiding eye contact with them. I didn't like the way they were eyeing me up and down like I was some sort of prize to be won. My father motioned for me to sit down on the couch next to him, his eyes never leaving mine. I hesitated for a moment, but ultimately complied, knowing that disobedience only led to trouble.
I knew what that meant - I was to sit on the couch and play the role of the attentive daughter while my father and his associates "got down to business." It wasn't the first time I had been forced to play this role, but it always made me uncomfortable. I tried not to think about what kind of business they were conducting, but I had a sinking feeling that it involved the drugs that my father had been dabbling in lately. This is probably why you and my mother got along so well in the start.
"Who's this pretty little thing?" one of the men asked, looking me up and down. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling their eyes on me. My father's body was unnervingly close to mine.
"This is my daughter," he said to his friends, "She's growing up so fast. Almost a woman now." I cringed at his words, feeling uncomfortable and violated.
His friends laughed and made crude comments, and I felt sick to my stomach. This was not a situation I wanted to be in. Why couldn't Daryl be around, or hell I'd settle for Merle. The man I called father had always been demanding and abusive but never touchy like this.
"Now, let's get down to business."
As I sat there on the couch, the men talked in hushed tones about my father's involvement in the cocaine business and how much of a cut he would get. Why not just send me away instead of whispering to each other? Whatever, I wasn't that interested in knowing anyways. Merle's name was brought up, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. The mere thought of Merle being involved made my blood boil. I mean, why would he drag our family into this mess?
I felt so helpless, and all I could do was fetch the men more beers when they asked. My father barely acknowledged my presence now, and I knew better than to interrupt their business. It was like I was just there to make them feel more comfortable.
Once they come to an agreement on the price and cuts, Earnest and his buddies start trying out the cocaine making it into lines. My father turns to me and says, "You're not a little girl anymore. It's time for you to grow up and try some too."
I freeze, unsure of what to do. I never thought I'd be in this situation. My heart races as I try to come up with an excuse, but my father's eyes are fixed on me.
"Come on," he says, holding out a small straw-like cylinder. "Don't be afraid. It'll make you feel good."
I shake my head, trying to sink away into the couch. "You need to try it," he says, his voice low as he pushes my face toward the coffee table. I whimper in protest. My face was inches from the thin white powder. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I try to resist, but his grip on my shoulder is too strong. "Come on, girl. You need to toughen up," he grunts as he shoves a straw toward my nostril. I didn't want to, I was holding back tears. I feel trapped and scared, but I don't want to upset him and make it worse, his hand on my shoulder was already going to leave a bruise I could feel it.
Reluctantly, I feel the powder enter my nose, and my head begins to spin. The men are all laughing and cheering, egging me on to take more. But all I can think of is how much I want to leave this place, to escape from my father's disturbing gaze.
As the effects of the drug take hold, I feel a rush of energy and euphoria, but it quickly gives way to paranoia and fear. I start to feel sick. I want to throw up, to scream, to do anything to make it stop.
But my father kept holding my head down until he was satisfied. I force myself to take another hit, the burn of the powder sending shockwaves through my body. I can feel myself slipping away, becoming someone I don't recognize. And all the while, my father watches, his eyes fixed on me with a sickening intensity.
I feel a deep sense of disgust with every passing moment, my hatred for my father growing stronger by the second. I can't help but feel like I'm turning into my mother.
I sink onto the couch, anxiety gripping at me, it felt like it was trying to crawl out of my body and consume me. The paranoia is overwhelming, and I can't shake the feeling that everyone is watching me. The men are getting louder and rowdier, their laughter and shouting filling the room. One of the strangers sits uncomfortably close to me, his hand sliding up my thigh. I want to push him away, but I'm frozen with fear.
My father's voice breaks through the chaos, "Don't be rude to the guests," he warns me as he did earlier. My stomach flips, this is why he wanted here, to entertain his new friends.
Fuck that, I panic and shove the stranger away with all my might. I'll take a beating or whatever punishment that follows, I just need to get out of there. I stumble to my feet and try to run, but my head spins and I lose my balance.
"Hey, where you going?" The stranger's voice echoes in my ears, but I ignore him and keep moving, putting as much distance as I can between myself and the men. I make it to the corner of the kitchen, bracing myself against the counter, trying to catch my breath.
"Earny, the entertainment you promised sucks," one of the men grumbles, standing up in frustration. He doesn't even give my father a chance to respond before a fistfight breaks out, sending furniture crashing and glass shattering.
I flinched at every loud noise and every hit, sinking to the ground. The fight was getting worse and worse, and I felt like I was about to have a panic attack. Growing up around here made me hate violence, it reminded me of the few times I'd seen our father beat Daryl. I couldn't stand it anymore.
The men were all brawling, pissed drunk, and high. I covered my ears, wishing this would stop. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I wanted to run away, but my body wouldn't move.
The fight continued to escalate, with each blow and curse making me more and more terrified. Suddenly, one of the strangers took a wild swing at Earnest, but missed and hit his own friend, knocking him out cold. Earnest stumbled backward, tripping over the coffee table and hitting his head on the wall, leaving him out of the fight.
The remaining two men continued to brawl, but one accidentally knocked himself out after slipping on a spilled beer. They were so out of it they didn't realize why they were fighting anymore. That left only one, who was now charging toward me in a drunken rage. I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest, until he suddenly collapsed at my feet, passed out cold from the drugs and alcohol.
I was left alone in the chaos, surrounded by unconscious bodies and broken furniture. I didn't know how long I had been sitting there, shaking and crying.
I knew I needed to leave though. I stumbled my way out of the trailer to Daryl's, my legs felt like jelly and my heart was pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. I fumbled with the spare key, dropping it once before finally managing to unlock the door. As soon as I stepped inside, I locked the door and pushed a chair against it, desperate for some sense of security.
My hands were still shaking as I made my way to the spare room, almost tripping over my own feet in the process. The room was small and cramped, but it felt safe to me. I crawled under the bed, curling up in a ball and trying to calm myself down. What most people didn't know was that I liked small spaces, this way I knew there was only one way for things to find me and not startle me from behind.
As I lay there, my mind replayed the events of the night. The drugs, the men, my father's disturbing attention. It was all too much to process. Eventually, exhaustion took over and I drifted off to sleep, grateful for the darkness and the temporary escape it provided.