freedom taste like you

“Amy!” His voice thundered from downstairs, sharp and impatient. I froze, the sound crawling under my skin like static. It wasn’t my name, not really, but I’d stopped correcting him years ago. I took a shaky breath, forcing the familiar mask onto my face, a smile that never quite reached my eyes, before opening my bedroom door. My hand trembled as I gripped the railing. “Yes, Daddy,” I called, my voice softer than a whisper. He was where he always was, slouched on the couch, chips in one hand, beer in the other, eyes glued to the flickering TV. The same grey light from the screen made the whole room look colder than it already was. “What were you doing upstairs?” he asked, not even turning his head. I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Just… reading, Daddy.” He took a slow sip from his bottle, smirking at something on the screen before finally looking at me. His eyes were bloodshot, the red that meant he’d already been drinking for hours. “And what have I told you about hiding away when I’m home?” “You said… I should always be around you,” I whispered, my stomach tightening. “That’s right.” He laughed, a sound too harsh to be real amusement. “So, what were you doing upstairs, girl?” The way he said girl made my skin crawl. “I didn’t know you were home,” I lied quickly, words tumbling out in a rush. “I swear, Daddy, I didn’t hear the car.” He stood then, slow and deliberate, the smirk fading into something colder. “You didn’t hear me park right outside?” I shook my head. The silence between us grew heavy, thick with the tension I knew too well. And then came the sharp c***k across my face. The sting made my eyes water instantly. My hand flew to my cheek, but I didn’t dare make a sound. Before I could blink, his hand twisted in my hair, yanking me backwards. I stumbled, trying to catch my footing, but he was already dragging me toward the stairs. “Please!” I cried, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry!” “Quiet!” he shouted, his grip tightening. I tried to stop him, tried to lessen the pain, but my body was too weak. When we reached my room, he shoved me hard, and I fell against the edge of the bed, the wood biting into my back. The room spun. My breath came in short, panicked gasps as he loomed over me, a shadow, breathing heavy and full of rage. When it was over, I was left on the floor, trembling. My body ached, but my heart hurt worse. He muttered something under his breath, something about “ungrateful girls,” and slammed the door on his way out. The echo of his footsteps on the stairs was the only sound in the house. Then, the front door opened. The car engine roared to life, and he was gone, off to drown himself in another bottle, maybe forget I even existed. I stayed on the floor for a long time, listening to the rain tapping against the window. My cheek burned where he’d hit me, my back throbbed, but the quiet was almost a relief. Finally, I crawled onto my bed and curled up beneath the thin blanket, staring at the cracks on the ceiling. I thought about my mother, the ghost who lived only in my memories. She left when I was three. I used to wonder why. Now I think I know. Maybe she was running too. A tear slipped down my cheek, hot against my cold skin. “I’ll get out of here,” I whispered into the dark. “One day, I’ll be free.” Outside, thunder rumbled, distant, but steady. The kind of sound that made you believe the world was still moving, even if you weren’t. I closed my eyes and imagined another place. A world where no one shouted my name wrong. A world where hands didn’t hurt. A world where the air didn’t taste like fear.