I could hardly breath, I was afraid to turn around. He could be right there. This was truly panicking. I knew I had to be smart about this. There was nobody around, trees everywhere, and it was pitch black. I had no idea where I was. All I knew was that I was lost, all alone, and couldn’t tell anyone what I had done.
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It was early on a Sunday morning. My mom and I were ready to walk out of the door but my dad was taking longer than a sloth would to get ready.
I hadn’t seen my dad last night because he was out late with his friends. I locked myself in my room because I didn’t want it to happen again. I wish I knew my father better I wish I could help him heal. I wish I could take that possessive devil out of him for good.
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I found a bush with a little sliver just big enough for me to fit into it. I kept hearing that devilish voice calling after me. It made me quiver, I it pierced my ears, “Kate! Where are you Kate? I’m not going to hurt you I just want to talk!” I could hear the lies under his alcoholic breath. I jumped into the bush and poked my eyes through the sliver.
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Finally my dad came down looking as horrible as ever, “you owe me,” he said angrily and tiredly to my mother. “Come on! Church is good for us! It helps keep people good,” she said happily. Anyone who wasn’t stupid could see the depressed and terrified look in her eyes that carried with her everywhere.
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“Kate! I know you’re around here somewhere! I will find you!” I could hear his limping, a slide with every left step. I heard the sticks breaking and leafs ruffling when he stepped. He had an obvious presence that made the animals flee when they were within a hundred foot circumference of him. Soon it would be my turn to flee, but I wouldn’t get away so easy.
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As we walked into the church, everyone was already sitting down and waiting for the mass to begin.  My father stumbled to the front, mumbling non-sense as he past the pews full of people.  Uncertainty passed on the people’s faces as they witnessed their pastor unable to give the sermon.  I bowed my head not only to pray for my father, but to diminish the embarrassment I felt for being his daughter.  I knew my mother felt the same way.   If we showed that we were embarrassed to his face, we were sure to face the price. 
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I watched as my father staggered along, brushing past my bush almost as if he knew I was in there.  He took such careful steps around other trees and bushes, checking them to make sure I wasn’t in them, but with my bush he simply disregarded it.  Afraid of what he’ll do to me I took a step back.  Almost immediately I regretted it, I had stepped on a large tree branch that snapped as soon as I put pressure on it.  My father stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned his head around, revealing a smile that no man could ever recreate.  My stomach dropped and I knew I was done for. 
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My father barely got through the prayers.  He groggily droned on about how life is unfair, somehow relating it to the Bible.  It was then my turn to recite a letter to the Corinthians from St. Paul.  I tripped up on the word “epistles” in my presentation.  At that moment I knew his eyes were on me.  I knew what was to come for not being perfect in my dad’s eyes and quite frankly I did not have the heart to finish my sermon.  I knew what was to await me at home and I met eyes with my mom and she knew too.  I finished the sermon and put my head down as to pray for someone, and I was.  Myself.
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When we got home, my father wrapped his right hand around my arm, cutting the circulation from it.  He dragged me inside. I looked back at my mother helplessly, right as we made eye contact she looked down. My father opened the door and shoved me inside. I tripped on my feet and fell to the wood floor. Luckily my hands hit the ground first, saving my head. My mother closed the door behind us and she walked into the kitchen tearing up. “MOM! Aren’t you going to do anything?!” I asked feeling more helpless than ever. My dad pulled me up by the arm and dragged me to the kitchen following after my mom.
“What do you have to say for this?” My father asked my mother. She looked down mumbling. “Nobody can hear you!” My dad said harshly to her.
“Next time I’ll do better I promise!” I said trying to reassure my dad. He ignored me completely. He was too busy looking around for a beer bottle to care what I had to say. He opened the cabinet and grabbed the whiskey. At this point he didn’t care if he had a glass or not. He had chugged at least half the bottle, stopped to take a breath, and went for more. Once he had nearly finished the bottle he threw it against the kitchen wall. It shattered and the remaining whiskey was now staining the white kitchen wall. He walked over to the pile of glass and looked at my mom, “Well… Aren’t you going to clean this?” My mom walks to the sink and bends down to grab the dust pan. She walked over to the mess and bent down to start cleaning as my dad was staring at her. “Stop!” He said making both me and my mom jump. He reached down and grabbed a glass shard. He met eyes with me and started walking over to me. My mother looked over and saw him slowly making progress to get to me, this was her last straw. She walked over to him a jerked at his arm.  “Please stop! I’m begging you just stop hurting her!” My mom begged of him. He shook his arm signaling her to back off, but clearly she hadn’t gotten the message. So, he threw his arm back shoving her as hard as she could. My mom was completely unbalanced. After a couple of steps backward she fell back hitting her head on the corner of the table. I ran around the table to get to her knowing that my father would be unable to keep up with me. I checked for her breathing. Nothing. I checked for a pulse. Nothing. I looked around for the phone. It was nowhere in sight. I stepped forward and tripped over the dust pan. A huge piece of glass had made a small incision on the bottom of my upper thigh. It hadn’t done much damage, the most it needed was a band aid. I drew it from my flesh and found my father was about 2 feet away from me. I threw myself at him and plunged the glass in his left knee, and he fell to the floor.  I sprinted out of the house and into our woodsy backyard. 
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I peered out of the bush, only to find my father staring directly at me.  Time slowed and my breath shortened.  He limped his way over to me in slow motion.  I backed up to the tree behind me while I surveyed my options of escape.  I came up with nothing.  He would get me either way I ran.  I looked around me to find some sort of weapon, anything I could defend myself with.  I picked up a jagged rock and clutched it tightly.  It was me against my father now.  He pulled the glass shard out of his knee without flinching, and smiled at me.