"Why are you late?" My father asked, calm. I gulped in fear. I was seven minutes late, but I was late. That was all that mattered. I broke the first rule. That, itself, will get me into more trouble than I am.

I stayed quiet, avoiding his sharp gaze. That only seemed to anger him more. "I'm going to ask you again. Why are you late?" He repeated the question, his voice calm. That only increased the fear within me. It was never good when he was calm, especially when I break a rule.

I muttered the reason under my breath.

"Speak up. You have a voice, use it." My brother snapped at me. We were in father's office. Father was sitting on his chair, my brother was standing beside him, and I was standing across the desk, a bit to the right, away from the door like my father told me to.

"T-the bus was late. There was an accide-" I raised my voice a little, but was cut off by an empty beer bottle being thrown at the wall behind me. I flinched as the glass hit parts of my body, a numbing pain shooting from injured areas.

Rule number two: don't make excuses.

"That's the second rule you've broken in a span of ten minutes." My father snapped. I kept my gaze on the floor, my body trembling in fear.

"I-I'm s-sorry," I stuttered. My father angrily slammed his hands on the table.

Rule number three: don't stutter.

"Brian. Leave. I'll deal with this good-for-nothing girl," my father barked. I fearfully looked up at my brother, pleading him not to leave. He doesn't know what father is capable of. He doesn't know what father does.

He made eye-contact with me. I immediately looked away, my body feeling as if I was wrapped in four blankets during California summer. But even with the split second eye-contact, I could tell he didn't care about whatever would happen to me.

"Yes, dad." Brian said, leaving right after.

Father provokingly approached me, causing me to back into the wall. My breathing grew heavier, my throat felt as if it was clogged. I started feeling nauseous as he started removing his belt.

"P-please father. I won't do it again. I'm sorry," I whispered, knowing that it's of no use. Father wants to relieve his stress, and I'm the perfect punching bag.

"Tsk. A disappointment. That's what you are. An utter disappointment. I told your mother to abort you, but she didn't listen. No, she was desperate for a daughter. Look at her now, six feet under ground," he growled out, gripping my hair and pushing me to the floor, my back facing him. I didn't get time to react before he started with the punishment.

One blow. Two blows. Three. Four. Five. He stopped. Why did he stop? I hesitantly looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was looking at me with a sadistic smile. My body tensed and the colour drained from my face. I knew exactly what that smile meant. My body shook in fear, dread filling up every inch of my body.

Father grabbed my hair, made me stand up, and pushed me against the wall. A throbbing pain erupted in my head. I was pinned chest-to-wall, while my father stood behind me.

"Your punishment is just getting started," he whispered into my ear. My body trembled in fear, my mind too distracted with all the potential punishments, to realize that my father was making physical contact with me.

His hand grazed up and down my inner thigh, while the other moved to lightly feather my side. I whimpered as I realized what the punishment was.

"This won't hurt you, would it? You're not a virgin anyways," he whispered.

To my rare luck, his phone rang. He pulled himself off me to answer the phone. Before he did, he turned to give me a very bloodcurdling glare. "Leave unless you want me to continue."

I have never run that fast before. I made my way to my tattered room and into the bathroom, sinking to floor as I pulled my knees to my chest. Adrenaline stopped running through my blood stream, and my heart rate decreased.

That was before it all settled in my mind. My father touched me. He touched me. Touched. I was touched.