Demons

Chapter Three

I finally get home, and my dad is gone to work. So I spend my night alone. Uselessly walking up and down the stairs, going to get something, and as soon as I enter the room, forgetting what it is I need. Early stages of Alzheimer's?

I go upstairs and remember why I went down in the first place, repeating it over and over in my head. As I go downstairs and pull up the loose board in the kitchen floor, I take out the money I've saved up since I was eight years old. The bag I’ve used every night since I promised myself to do this so I’d never forget, stares back at me like a bad joke. I have packed this bag every night, just so I remember that I have to leave on my 16th Birthday.

Taking the bag, an old black duffel bag, out from the board and the money I’ve saved over the years behind my dad’s back.  Two thousand, five hundred, eighty-eight dollars. All those nights of babysitting the Carmelle kids payed off, the walking of that old man Joseph’s dogs every Saturday, and finally, cleaning Ms. Isabelle’s room upstairs, it was worth it in my eyes. Jogging up the stairs, as I unzip the bag, I become excited and sad at the same time.

I remember when my dad took me to the zoo, and how he let me feed the ducks. I remember how he let me talk to the lions as if they could talk back. But I mainly remember how he used to talk to me about mom and how I look just like her. That was before he started drinking. I guess I just reminded him too much of her, and how she left. He hated her, so he obviously hates me.

I remember when he started drinking. It was on the fifth anniversary of my mother’s leave. I don’t exactly know why he did it the fifth year, or why he did it at all, but he did. He came home one night, drunk and stumbling as he does most nights now. I can hardly remember a night he didn’t. But he came in, just as he did yesterday, swinging his arms left and right, knocking over numerous pictures and letters and memories of her. I was just a child and I couldn't have known what had gotten into him, nor did I want to. But I do remember one thing, he cried every second of it. Then it became a regular.

Walking into my room, I see the bed I’ve spent so many nights on. A simple twin sized bed with a thin mattress covered by only a quilt my grandma made me. I’ve dreamed so many things on this bed, and now maybe some of them can come true. Opening my closet, I take out the extra pair of Converse I have, a few shirts, some pants, and shorts. Undergarments and all that go on the outside of the bag. I stuff it all in, and then remember the quilt my grandma took so long to make me, and roll it up, stuffing it into my bag too. While waiting for my dad to come home, I walk into the kitchen and sit down, hoping I can explain to him why I have come to my decision.

I make up two plans while waiting for him. Plan A is for if he comes back sober, and I will explain to him why. Plan B is for if he comes home drunk, which is the most likely and I will just be blunt and leave. After a few hours pass, he drunkenly stumbles into the apartment. I guess to go with plan B. Just be blunt.

“Dad, I’m leaving,” I say, picking up my bag. I had set it on the floor after half an hour passed and he wasn’t home. Standing up, I begin walking towards the door.

He laughs, but it’s more of a coughing sound. “No, you’re not,” And now I see the black wisps, tendrils of darkness, floating around him, and as he says those words, growing longer. His eyes are like a fiery furnace, burning me. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Yes I am, I mentally say to myself as I walk towards the door. I knew what that would start before I did it. Yes, I’m scared of the beating that always comes next, but I’m determined to get out of the hole he’s dug for me. But this time, something is different - I sense him before he hits me - it’s not my peripheral vision that helps me, but something else.

His fist aimed at my face, misses as I dodge it, moving out of the way, stepping back.

One less step toward the door.

He’s coming for me now, angrier than before. The air is crackling with a type of power I’ve never felt before now - with something evil, almost otherworldly. I feel it trying to wrap around me, but it’s as if it can’t hang on, even when I want to let it control me in the slightest.

I finally have the urge to walk straight ahead towards my dad, and he misses me somehow, even though his fist was coming for my face. I push him roughly into the chair I was sitting in. Using a strength I know I didn’t have yesterday. Reaching over and taking a roll of duct tape out of my bag, I tie his hands to the chair, and then his feet. I use as little as I can, because I don’t know when I might need it again. I’m kind of frustrated that I had to waste it on him.

“Bye, dad,” I say as I open the door. Taking one look back at him, I know that I once loved him, and for a second I think he realizes that too, because his eyes change back to that one nice time I remember. I actually think that he’s sorry, when all of a sudden I see inside.

The darkness is like a tunnel, black wisps forming and lessening around me. It feels like I’m floating as movies of his life encompass me. Horrible things he’s done. His face, angry and uncaring as his fist rises above his head and came for me. His eyes as he angrily thinks of how he can kill a bartender that refused him another drink. I open my eyes and miraculously my feet are where they were before, on the ground outside of the apartment. I slam the door closed. “Forever.” I add on firmly, wiping away tears I didn’t know ran down my face.

Once outside in the cold air, goosebumps form on my arms. I open my duffel and pull a fleece out and zip it up, pulling the hood over my head. It almost instantly makes my ears start getting warmer. I look up at the sky, pulling my bag closer to me. The stars are beautiful, and the soft breeze causes the wind to ruffle the leaves. They make a beautiful sound. Taking out my iPod that took three months to buy working at Burger King, I put the plugs in my ears. Paramore plays my favorite song, “Playing God” I only know one place I can go, so I do. I think, if mom could do this, then so can I.