This is part of a novel my best friend and I are working on. It's really creative and we are...
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Chapter One: Denise
“Go away, Dad!” I scream as I take the stairs three at a time; impressive considering I barely touch 5’ 2”.
“Geet back hur! Denrise! Darm Darter!” he slurs as he stumbles up the stairs after me.
I run into the guest bedroom and slam the door, barely taking the time to click the lock in place and shove the dresser in front of the door before I am launching myself out the window. The cool pool water bites into my skin on the cold winter evening. I swim to the side of the pool closest to me and hop out. I had been running that obstacle course since I was eight and my dad had yet to figure out where I would go next. My mom used to protect me, until she left on my eighth birthday. It was almost pitiful that eight years later my dad still didn’t beat me to the stairs.
“Dyre those roots, orr I’ll dyre therm for you!” he yelled though the house.
Scratch that; it was pitiful that none of my neighbors had come to see if everything was okay whenever he yelled. It was always the same things; some of my naturally blonde hair was coming through the black dye, I mixed the wrong margarita, I let Mom’s song play on the radio (like I had any control of that), or he had seen my charm bracelet. The last one made him angry because it was the last thing my mom gave me before I left, a reminder of the good times we had.
“Screw you old man!” I yelled back. Man I hated him.
I shivered; the cold was like a thousand needles that were sucking the warmth from my body. I stood up and started heading for the back door, but I didn’t go inside until I heard a thud from my dad passing out upstairs. I immediately got to work on my home work then I sat down and wrote down a few different drink cocktails I wanted to try out.
All too soon my eyes drooped and I almost slipped into blissful sleep. Almost. I forced my tired and aching body to go to the medicine cabinet and pull out a burn cream. I silently cursed my dad as I peeled back my sleeve and found the rectangle shape with the two smaller rectangles inside of it. I was supposed to dye my hair last night, but I hadn’t because I was busy studying. No one but my dad and mom knew my true hair color was blonde, like hers. That is why he made me dye it; he hated her for leaving him. He normally stuck to hitting me with an assortment of objects, but once in a while he would use something hot. Like a spatula. The cream didn’t help, but the ice cold water from the pool had; I yanked off my shirt and walked upstairs in my tank-top. Along the way I picked up four beer bottles and skirted around a large amount of my dad’s dinner that came back from his stomach. My soft mattress beckoned me, and I went to it with lazy legs and drooping eyes. The last conscious thought to go through my head was that tomorrow was picture day.