Chapter 2
841 Words
“I hope I didn’t wake up late,” I muttered to myself as I slowly stood up from the floor, my body aching from the night before.
Every muscle screamed in protest. I winced, rubbing my arm, and squinted at the sunlight pouring through the window. It was too bright, too cheerful for the world I lived in.
Crossing the room, I reached up to lower the blinds, but something made me pause.
Across the fence, standing by her bedroom window, was Clara Hailey, my neighbour. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes wide with concern.
It took me a second to understand why she looked that way. Then my stomach dropped.
She’d seen them. The bruises.
My eyes widened in panic. I yanked the blinds shut so quickly that the sound echoed through the quiet house. My heart pounded in my chest as I stumbled toward the bathroom.
Half an hour later, I was still in there, moving slowly, carefully — cleaning the cuts, washing away the bloodstains, avoiding the mirror. I didn’t want to see what he’d turned me into.
When I finally wrapped myself in a towel and dared to look up, I barely recognised the girl staring back at me. Pale skin. Red eyes. A faint handprint fading across my cheek.
That wasn’t me.
At least, not the me I still wanted to be.
Sighing, I grabbed another towel and dabbed my wet hair, forcing myself to breathe. When I was finally dressed, long-sleeved shirt, jeans, nothing that showed too much skin. I checked the window again.
Clara was gone. Relief washed over me, and I let out a shaky breath.
I sat at my vanity, picked up the small bag of makeup I kept hidden, and began the part of my morning I hated most. Foundation. Concealer. Powder. The paint I used to hide my life.
“I hate this,” I whispered to my reflection as I covered the bruises. “I hate this house. I hate this mask.”
When I was done, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and slipped out of my room quietly. My father was still asleep, or so I hoped. I tiptoed down the stairs, praying the floorboards wouldn’t creak.
Almost there.
“Going somewhere, Amy?”
The voice froze me mid-step.
I turned slowly to see him standing behind me, leaning against the wall, half-smirking, half-daring me to answer wrong.
“Umm… I was just going to make breakfast,” I said, forcing a small smile.
He tilted his head, crossing his arms. “You sure about that?”
“Yes, Dad.”
He studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment before finally nodding and walking past me into the kitchen. I followed, each step carefully, quietly, as if the wrong sound could set him off again.
While he flipped through the channels on his small kitchen TV, I opened the cupboard and almost smiled when I saw it, empty shelves.
Groceries. That meant he’d have to go out. And that meant, for a little while, I could breathe.
“Dad, we’re out of groceries,” I said carefully, closing the cupboard.
He slammed his fist on the table, making me flinch. “How the hell did that happen so soon?”
“I-I don’t know,” I stuttered, staring down at my feet.
He muttered something under his breath, grabbed his car keys, and pulled on his jacket. I didn’t breathe until he was at the door.
“You know the rules,” he said, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Don’t leave this house.”
The door slammed, and the silence that followed was almost deafening.
I exhaled, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat. For a few precious seconds, it was just me and the quiet.
Then—
Knock, knock.
The sound made me jump. My breath hitched.
“Who’s there?” I called, trying to keep my voice steady as I stepped closer.
“It’s me, Clara!” came the voice from outside.
My palms went cold. My heart started racing again. Oh no… what is she doing here?
“Clara? I don’t know any Clara. Sorry,” I lied quickly, hoping she’d leave.
“Oh, come on, Amber, don’t be like that! You know me. We used to play together, remember?”
I swallowed hard. She remembered.
“Oh! Clara… right,” I said weakly. My hand tightened on the doorknob. “I’m not feeling too well. Maybe next time, okay?”
“But I really need to talk to you,” she insisted, her tone soft but pleading.
“I said—”
“Didn’t you hear her, Clara?” a deep, familiar voice cut in from behind her. “Come back later.”
Clara turned, startled. My blood ran cold.
My father stood in the driveway, glaring.
And in that moment, as the air left my lungs and fear turned my stomach, I realised something I’d always known deep down.
He’d never really left.
- Writer
