In the living room, Iâm greeted by not only my parents but two more people as well. They all seem to be roughly the same age and after a quick glance at the strangersâ hands, I figure theyâre married.
âFlorence, here you are. Bob, Rose, this is our daughter, Florence. Florence, these are the Martins, our most important business partners,â my mother explains with her perfectly polished smile. Knowing this game, I smile politely at them and go to shake their hands.
âItâs lovely to meet you,â I tell them, my voice almost a tad too sweet. I havenât done this in a while so Iâm a little rusty.
âPleasure is ours,â Mr. Martin says, staring more at my chest, even though my shirt doesnât show off any cleavage, than my face. With some embarrassment, I realize Iâm not wearing a bra.
I shake the manâs wifeâs hand and note she squeezes it too tightly, despite her acting like she didnât notice anything. Good to know Iâm surrounded by snakes.
The next two hours drag by slowly. I come up twice. Once my parents mention how well Iâm doing at school and later they say what big plans I have for the future. I pretend everything they say is true when really, they know nothing about me.
âYeah, and she reads a lot of books,â my mom throws in there at one point.
âOh really? What kind?â Mrs. Martin asks, feigning interest as her husband takes in my body once more. It makes the bad kind of goosebumps appear on my skin and I suppress the urge to cross my arms over my chest.
âThe classics,â I say, hopefully ending the conversation. I donât want to give the man sitting opposite me any excuse to look at me. Iâve hardly been able to get down any of the food my mother prepared. Not that I have a choice. Itâs simply not acceptable not to finish my plate, could you imagine the insult that would be? Nope, just keep eating, I tell myself. Even though I hate myself and my body more with every bite.
After dinner, the adults are quick to move their conversation to the couch where one of my dadâs most expensive bottles of bourbon is waiting. I help my mother in the kitchen as the other three people start discussing business.
âCan I go to my room after weâre done? Iâm tired and I wouldnât want to intrude,â I say in a hushed voice so only my mother can hear.
âYouâll stay for a bit. Then youâll say you have work to finish for school tomorrow,â she says curtly. Guess even the queen of acts needs a break from time to time.
When the kitchenâs all cleaned up, I follow my mom to the couch. I sit on a chair since thereâs no way Iâll get any closer to Mr. Martins. The four adults have already shared two bottles of wine and now theyâre drinking even more. Iâll keep my distance until I can slip off.
I spend twenty uncomfortable minutes in the living room, wishing Iâd known sooner that weâd have guests tonight. I wouldnât have worn shorts and put on a bra. God, I hate men like Bob.
âI have to excuse myself but I need to finish a school project for tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, have a good night,â I finally say. On my way down the corridor, the uncomfortable feeling of being watched makes my skin crawl. Only when I finally close the door behind me do I relax.
I take out my current read and get lost in a world of pirates and hot female captains. Two hours pass in a blur and Iâm more than surprised when my dad calls out my name. Itâs after midnight on a Thursday morning, what could he possibly want?
I cautiously slip out of my room and walk up to the couch. Our guests are no longer here and neither is my mom. I donât have a good feeling about this but neither do I have a choice.
âCome here,â my dad says, his words slurred. I donât think Iâve ever witnessed my father being drunk. Itâs unsettling, to be met by those unfocused eyes.
âWhat is it?â I ask slowly. My father gets up and steps even closer to me. My attention is on his face so I donât realize the hand flying toward me until itâs too late. The palm of his hand makes contact with my cheek like my motherâs did not so long ago. Only this hit stings a lot more.
I cry out as tears blur my view, then back away from the man. âWhy?â I croak, unable to form a coherent sentence. My father stumbles towards me, lifting both of his hands. I flinch and try to get away only for them to settle on my shoulders.
When I meet my fatherâs eyes, Iâm stunned to see tears in them. âYou know what you did!â he accuses. I shake my head, having no idea what heâs talking about.
âDonât lie!â he yells.
âIâm not! I donât know what I did, Iâm sorry,â I say hurriedly. My father shakes my shoulders.
âYouâre playing dumb even though this is all your fault!â he says, his expression becoming one of deep despair. My heart aches at the thought I might have hurt him.
âIâm sorry,â I whisper even as I have no idea what Iâm apologizing for. My father pushes me back hard enough for me to land flat on my back. I scramble to a sitting position, trying to catch my breath.
âYou deserve this for what you did!â he yells, still looking so damn sad. My heart is beating in my throat as I try to move away from him but he doesnât let me. Instead, he kicks me in the side once, making me curl up in a ball which only gives him the opportunity to kick me across the back. My spine bends but I curl up tighter.
âPlease! Stop! Iâm sorry!â I say between rasping breaths.
What is happening? What did I do? I swear I didnât mean to hurt anyone!
âYou deserve this,â my father spits one more time before I hear his footsteps retreat.
Only when I hear his bedroom door lock, does the first tear roll down my cheek. My adrenaline slowly subsides and the pain where I was kicked really flares up. I wince as I get up, trying to stay quiet so as not to get my fatherâs attention again.
I lock my door and curl up in my bed, trying to breathe through the physical and emotional pain. I donât get it, what was my dad so upset about? I mustâve done something really bad for him to punish me like this. The sadness in his eyes still haunts me. I did that?
I stay up all night, crying until I canât anymore. Then Iâm just overwhelmed by confusion.