Note to Reader: I have a dad, as mentioned in the last chapter. I also have a step dad. This is centered around my step dad. He's more my dad than my real dad, so I will call him dad. Despite everything, including what you're about to read. He's still a better dad than my biological one.

Warnings: domestic abuse (I guess), violence, yelling, arguing, physical fighting, fear, anger, cursing. Classic argument gone wrong. Yep.

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We were arguing. Me and my dad. I'd said something. He'd gotten mad. But I couldn't remember what I'd said. What I'd done. The fight had started, obviously, but I just don't remember how. However, I do remember how it ended.

Every time I'd been advised about how to handle my dad and defuse a situation before it had gotten out of hand, I'd been told to remove myself from the situation. I had to be the big, mature person and walk away and cool off. Calm down before returning so I wouldn't do anything irrational. It was always my fault, it seemed. I instigated it. Pushed his buttons. Didn't step down. Fought back. So, if I left, it would solve itself.

My back turned away from him and I went to walk away, finally taking the advice that I'd been given so many times. "Don't walk away from me!" I felt and heard more than saw him move and I went into panic mode. My anger dissipated into fear and I started running. He ran after me. I screamed and booked it down the hallway. He caught my arm and spun me around.

Never before had he seemed so... Big. Taller than me. Wider than me. Stronger than me. Turning into fight mode, I pushed him away, hitting him wherever I could. My eyes were wide as I turned to run again.

His hand gripped my arm. His hold was tight. Strong. Unbreakable. He twisted my arm, pinning it behind my back. I hissed, but kept fighting. He was pulling it. My shoulder was burning, but I couldn't think anything except GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT! It was a scream, an echo. And I couldn't fight it. So I fought him.

A grunt from him sounded in my ear as his weight shifted to one foot. The other came around my ankles, pulling and pushing to knock them out from under me. My eyes went wide as we started falling. The walls in our house were brick, and my face was rushing towards the blunt corner of a doorway. The room's door was closed and the hallway's light was off. I remember that.

Somehow I got my arm free. I tried to catch myself. Tried to push myself away from the wall. I was just trying to protect myself. My body was in control of itself. My brain was far too messy and jumbled and panicked. My hands shot out but at the last second he pulled them back again.

Instead of catching myself or pushing myself away from the wall corner, I was propelled forward and my forehead smashed against the brick corner harder than it would have even before.

I crumbled. Limp on the ground, I stopped fighting. That was when my dad knew that something bad had happened. He was immediately lost of his anger.

What happened next is unknown to me except that:

1.) That night I went to bed with a horrible headache, a terrible hate at myself for not being able to fight him off (even though I was very young and he was rather large and trained in how to pin someone much bigger than me down while working for security) and a confusion of why whatever I had said had been horrible enough to make him so blindly angry that I had a horrible headache and a huge lump as punishment for it.

And 2.) I would not be going to school the next day. Even though it was a school day.

That thought scared me.

And I couldn't get rid of it.

He hurt you. He hurt you so badly that you can't go to school tomorrow because they don't want anyone to question what happened.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to go to sleep. He was a good guy with a bad temper. And I did deserve it. I'd sassed back. I'd tested him, even though I knew what would happen because of it. Even though I knew it would piss him off.

Curling in a ball, I tried to push past my fear and mixed up thoughts and find some peace enough to sleep amongst the chaos of the previous incident and the after affects of what had happened.

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Closing Note:

1. Some of these might be very short because, as mentioned quite a lot, a lot of these memories are older and quite a bit faded

2. Please don't worry about me, I'm okay. Like seriously I know this is the MOST over said statement of people in this generation - especially those at my age - but I am actually okay. He's not like this anymore and I just needed somewhere to get it off my chest so I can let it go. Anyway. Have a nice day! :)

                   - Aspen