the kitten stories (chapter 5, home)

By spin


*bree turns the key to her front door, lets herself in, locks the door behind her and hollars*
BREE: “ I’m home!”

DAD: “ you have chores to do young lady”

BREE: “ I know.”

*mid sentence his voice becomes a yell*
DAD: “ No not I know, right fucking now!”

*bree reply’s in a submissive tone*
BREE: “yes sir.”

DAD: “I cant hear you! Speak up!”

*projecting her voice to the top of the stairs where her dad is standing waiting for her answer*
BREE: “ yes sir!”

Bree always hated coming home. She was never sure what kind of a mood her father would be in. that wasn’t the reason she hated coming home though. She hated coming home because if her father was in a bad mood she would have to bear the brunt of it. If she didn’t do her chores as soon as she was asked she would have to not only do more chores but she would get a hit or two, and more than that if she tried defending herself. Her dad didn’t like her getting out a lot, but he used to encourage it. And it was really hard on her to adjust to what he wanted. He would say that she needed to get out more and then when she finally did her dad would say the exact oposet. It seemed like after bree quit martial arts and cut off her hair, he didn’t see her as his little girl any more, but more as an intruder.

She couldn’t make him happy anymore. She tried getting good grades, she tried getting out of the house more, she tried making him dinner or breakfast, she tried everything, but still nothing. She loved her dad but ever since she quit martial arts it seemed as if he lost his connection with her. Her dad was a martial artist from the age of 6 till his mid 20’s. he always told her stories about how he was as a kid. How he bully’d the bully’s, each story behind the 7 times he broke his nose, the storys of how his dad put him in martial arts without telling his mom. He told his storys to her as if he expected her to live them out herself, so that she would try to be like him, to live up to his shadow. But unlike her father, she had a conscious about fighing. She didn’t ever want to hurt the other person. But her sister lived up to her father expectations quite nicely. She was a lot like him, and in Bree’s eyes, she was better than her in every way.

Even when her dad was angry he would direct every ounce of anger he had towards bree, and would take it out on her physically mentally and emotionally. Depending on his mood and what time she come in contact with him depends on how badly it goes. Which is why she is so submissive around him in the first place. She isn’t nessisairaly scared of her father, more scared that if she fights back she’ll hurt him. At least she knows what will happen if he keeps directing towards her but she doesn’t know what will happen if she stands up to it.

*still half way yelling half way speaking*
DAD: “ HEY SPACE! Get to your fucking chores, NOW!”

As if of cue she quickly went into the kitchen and opend up the cabenets under the sink to grab the chemicals she needed. This has become a weekly ritual for her over the years. Ever since they moved into this house they gave her these chores. And also, over the years the punishments for not doing them or not doing them fast enough have gotten worse too.

“lets see…. Windex…. Clorox…… Comet….. paper towels…… washcloth. Yup all good.”

After she got all the stuff that she needed she went into her normal OCD chores cycle. Down stairs bathroom, then the upstairs bathroom. And she had a routine for each of the bathrooms as well. first she would do the mirrors, then the sinks, then the counter, and then finally the toilet and the bath tub. After she did that she would hop right to mopping the floors starting with the bar room, then into the kitchen and the bathrooms making sure to finnish with the upstairs bathroom floor.

Her music was pumped up as loud as she could possibly stand it. Loud enough that she couldn’t think and for her that was loud enough to block out any and every other sound. Her mop scrubbed and knocked against the wall as she was finishing up and getting ready to dry the slippery wet floor. Next thing she knew the doornob to the bathroom turnd and opened up to her father screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. She was just taking off her headphones to hear what he was saying when he stepped into the bathroom and slipped onto reinforced tile floor. A wave of concern swept through her and as she was rushing over to help him. Quickly that wave of concern was replaced by a wave of fear as she saw the look on her dads face.

Before she could blink or register what was going on her arms reflexively blocked her side and her face as the solid steel handle of the broomstick was being swung at her. One arm came across her chest and bent up at the elbow to protect her face while her other arm stayed ridged and slightly bent so that when it connected with her she was somewhat protected. She got hit 3 times, once in the elbow, once in the fore arm and the last impact hit the crook of her wrist knocking out one of her headphones in the process making it instantly clear what was being said.

*yelling at the top of his lungs*
DAD: “ GOD DAMN IT BREE! What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid fucking girl! CLEAN THIS SHIT UP YOU SHOULD HAVE HAD THIS SHIT DONE A WHILE AGO! GET TO IT!! NOW!”

And as he turned around she sank to the floor both of her arms throbbing with pain. She bit back the tears and started to dry the floor so she could safely escape to her room. She heard her phone go off but she was too much in shock and fear to answer. She quickly finished drying the floor and launched herself into her room. She flicked open the curtains to reveal her organized mess of a room. The blue wall walls almost shining with the sunlight that poured in through the window revealing movie posters and book covers that are tacked onto her wall.

Once safely in her room she took a few minutes to herself to breathe. She lay herself down on her bed and let the music pulse throught her body. after some time she finally checked her phone. It was from Patrick.

FROM: Patrick B <3

“ And by the way, it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

The silhouette of a smile started to play on her lips. Now she was really thinking about him. Everything from how sweet he was to how when he learned something he had been working on he would get this contagous child like grin on his face. His perfect ice blue eyes and soft looking lips. His silky smooth skin and his sweet comforting scent. She longed to kiss him, touch him, hear him, be near him. She missed everything about him.

“ I’m so not even close to being worthy of being his. But at least I can imagen it.”

She lay her back flat against the mattress turned on some happy hardcore techno and imagined them holding hands. She remembered the bubbly mood she would always get in when she heard his voice. Every time she saw him the butterflys seemed to embrace her and seemed to take all of her problems away. She felt like a completely different person around him, she felt more free. She became the person she truely wanted to be. She wasn’t bree around him, she was B. a bubbly, random, hyper, positive person.

It always made her really happy to be around him. But she hated how far apart they were. And she felt guilty that he would drive 2 hours to come see her when the shit hit the fan. He always took such good care of her and she didn’t know how to react to it. It was so akward for her to be around someone as positive and accepting as he was. And it didn’t matter what mood she was in when she saw him, she would always end up happy by the time he left.

With thoughts of him in mind she let her body relax and she let the music pulse through her. Each pulse of the bass shaking the stress from her muscles, the harmony distracting from the throbbing pain in her wrist. She started counting the length of her breath to the beats of the music, slowly increasing the count and making her breathing slower and slower. Making sure to make the timing of her breath in is the same as her breath out.

“ 1,2,3,3,4……1,2,3,3,4……1,2,3,4,4,5……..1,2,3,4,4,5”

slowly but surely she lets herself drift asleep.

the kitten stories (chapter 5, home)

Created: May 02, 2010


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