Page 7 of Lilah

"Took you a while," my father chides and my heart picks up in pace.

"Where's the moonshine?" my mothers slurred voice bounces off our high ceilings, causing a slight echo effect in my ears.

"I don't have it," I keep my eyes focused on the floor as I tell the truth.

"Why the hell not?"

"I gave the money to a kind homeless man," I explain, not hesitating to lie to them. There's no point in lying.

I hear the sound of my father undoing his belt and I close my eyes tightly in an attempt to keep them from watering.

I'm terrified of my father when he's drunk.

His dragging footsteps begin toward me and I gather the courage to run away from him.

I don't want this, any of it. I just want my normal parents back.

I want my brother back.

Running didn't work. He just whipped the belt at my back from a longer distance.

The stinging pain enters at a high level and I fall down on my knee with a quiet cry. His large hand grabs my upper arm and he yanks me back up.

The smell of beer and other strong alcohol envelops my nose and he folds the belt a single time as I squirm in his hold.

"Daddy, please," I whimper but I get ignored. He brings his arm back before crashing the belt against my back once more. I feel my back welt up and he brings it down another time in a matter of seconds.

My eyes find my mother's and she looks concerned.

Concerned, but not making a move to stop him.

He lets go of me and I drop to the floor, holding my back straight to keep the pain from intensifying.

"When we tell you to do something," he grips my chin, making sure I'm looking right at him, "you do it."

He pushes my face away harshly before raising his arm and giving me one more whip to the back, one the most painful of all.

"Jack," my mother begins, her voice a little less slurred, "she's learned her lesson, she's done for the night."

I keep my head down low as I let out silent sobs.

It's not even the pain of the belt that hurts the worst.

It's the fact that this is what everything has come to since Jake went to Heaven.

I understand why they drink.

I understand why my father does what he does.

They both hurt and they take out their frustration on breakable kitchenware and my father takes it out on me at times.

I'm the cause of all of this and that alone overpowers the excruciating pain radiating off of my back.

"You don't get the drink and you give away my money," my father shouts angrily as my entire back pounds and feels as hot as fire.

"I-I'm sorry," I whisper through my tears, looking up at my father who stands above me.

I catch a flash of remorse in his eyes but instead of speaking over his actions, he throws the belt on the ground next to me before turning and walking out of the kitchen.