These days, whenever the front door opened, I feared for my life. It had never been this bad. I was used to the neglect, and the abuse. But ever since my mother left us, it's gotten so much worse. He wakes up in a bad mood, he goes to work in a bad mood, he comes home in a bad mood, and he goes to bed in a bad mood. And when my father's in a bad mood, his temper shortens. He angers easily, and he takes it out—on me.
The lock turned, clicked, opened.
I sucked in a breath.
But there was nothing. No yelling. No screaming. Nothing shattering. There was only grumbling and the groan of the couch.
I stayed frozen, hardly breathing until the soft sounds of snoring drifted up. I sighed, standing up from the bed, gripping the bedpost as the blood rushed down from my head. After the feeling passe
