I'm terrified beyond compare, why doesn't he just kill me?
Truely beloveds, surely you all know about how abusive my dad is, correct? Well, on the night before last I hadn't cleaned my room and it was after dinner. The door to my room was closed I believe and I was talking to Sayna-sama. He told me I had 15 more minutes so I was like: "Alright." And then he left. I heard his voice, thunderous as a volcanoes eruption. "I told you to clean this room and it's not clean! Get off the computer NOW and go clean it!"
"Oh, my GOD!"
He did a waddle over to me and got really close in my face, his foul breath reeking in my nostrils. "Do it, NOW!!!!"
"I'm going!"
"It better be off in 3 seconds!"
"It doesn't go off in three seconds!"
"I bet it would if I did it."
He was standing behind me, so I asked,"Do you mind? I have some conversations on here I don't want you to read."
"Turn it off."
"Go over there, please!"
"TURN IT OFF,NOW!!!!!"
"Alright, I'm going!" And I exited out of the instant message, hit the Start button and was about to turn it off when he brought his hand crashing down, the fierce fist of authority. I felt it slamm into the back of my head and I jerked forward, my head bashing into the keyboard. It bounced an inch and landed again on the keyoard and Ilayed there with my head on the keyboard a moment trying to soothe my boiling temper. I got up, he had backed away a little and I pushed in the kayboard tray. It slammed in and the keyboard feel, I had broken the tray and knocked it off of the pulley thing. He jumped and swapped me right in the left cheek. I lost my balance and tumbled into the couch that is now by the computer and he tried to grab me and hit me again. I started kicking, blindly at first and then at his hands. HE finally stopped and so did I. I stood up to leave, the sounds of my screaming still ringing in my ears. "Don't you DARE try to fight me back again." he growled. He mumbled about how I lost the computer privledges for life and the phone for 3 monthes. "And don't you even close that door!" I went in my rom, pretending not to hear him and shut the door, not closing it completely but just enough so he couldn't see inside. I began shuffling through papers near my lamp and he pushed the door open.
"Did you not hear me or somethin'?"
"..I heard you.."
I was clutching on to a stick of deoderant, afraid it was going to crack in half because of the force on which I was squeezing. We stood there for the longest times, me not moving, my back to him and his stare boring into my back. "Get to work." I fumbled through some more papers. "I'm coming back in 3 minutes and you BETTER have this fucking room clean." And so as I cleaned my room, he would insult me fromt he bathroom. Call me a bitch or a whore and stuff like that. I was standing over by my bookshelves and Kathy came to talk to me.
"He had NO right to slam my head into the keyboard. I didn't do ANYTHING physical to him!!!"
"But he's your father and he can smack you when you're mouthing off."
"HE CAN'T SLAM MY HEAD INTO THE KEYBOARD! That's not even legal!"
And then I felt them burning my eyes. Hot, salty tears. They streaked down my face one by one making trails of black as they went.
"Is she yelling at you Kathy?" he asked in a high and might tone.
"No, she's not, Rick."
I cleaned my room and closed the door when I was done. I just lay there on the floor crying. Soon, he came in.
"I'm sorry for hitting you but--"
"I DON'T accept your apology."
"Excuse me? Who are YOU talking to?"
"You!Just cause you apologize doesn't mean I have to accept it, now leave me alone!"
"If you woulda fucking clean your room in the first place I wouldn't have beaned you and you wouldn't be crying on the floor like a pathetic little baby!" he snarled and left.
I cried myself to sleep that night. I was so afraid, though I will never admit that to anyone else. I was scared that I'd never be able to talk to my baby ever again and that my dad was going to kill me. Here's a poem I wrote at 1 or so in the morning.

Maybe I could kill you
Drown you in our pool
Wouldn't that just be
A dandy day or two?

We could kill you conventionally
But I wouldn't give you choice
Personally I'd like to stake you
Like Vlad, traditionally.

Or maybe I could do like you
And beat you half to death
With a splintered wooden bat
Until your head was blue and black.

And then from this pain I'd be released.
No more poetry like this.
Oh, wouldn't things be peachy
If you were only deceased?

1 meter | roll it