Cracked Under Pressure

I could hear the footsteps as my father climbed up the stairs. Each step was like thunder clapping, echoing across the house. Following each step was a drunken groan from the owner of the footsteps.

If I focused hard enough, the smell of liquor could reach my nostrils from where I lay. I twitched my nose in disgust as cold shivers ran down my spine. Fear and anticipation were filling in the pit of my stomach as I waited.

'Drunken bastard.' I thought, watching my bedroom door closely.

There was no lock on my bedroom door. My father got rid of it long ago, so it was easier to get to me. All that I could do was wait.

Underneath the covers, my fists curled into tight balls. My nails dug into my skin, leaving bright red, crescent moon markings. The pain didn't bother me as much as it would in the past. I only focused on the door and the monster that would walk through it.

Soon enough, my door pushed open, slamming into the wall with a loud bang. Expecting it, I didn't flinch.

I don't move from my spot, hidden underneath the covers of my bed, and watch my father with dark blue eyes. My eyes are hardened, prepared for anything. Despite the fear shaking inside me, I didn't show it.

The large figure that was my father lumbered toward me. I didn't say or do anything as the man approached me. The stench of booze came off my father in waves, making my stomach churn. The need to hurl was so great, but I held it in.

"Wake up, you little bitch." snarled my father, Caleb, drunkenly. "You need an ass-whooping," he said with a drunken hiccup.

My father rested a sweaty, beefy hand on my shoulder. The man's fingers dug into my skin, deep enough to leave groove marks. I bit down my lower lip to keep myself from making noise. It stung as if ants were biting me. No matter the pain I was experiencing, I refused to move.

"Wake up!" repeated my father, becoming more belligerent. Underneath the drunken slur of my father's words, I could hear the rising agitation. The fear within me spiked higher.

"Get away from me," I said firmly.

My voice cracked as I spoke; this had to be the first time I had truly stood up to my father. Every other time was a desperate plea after a fierce beating. This time, it was different.

I was no longer the punching bag, the dirt underneath a person's boot, or a spit bucket.

Suddenly, I am snatched by the hair, and my head yanks upwards. I am no longer hiding under the comforter, safe from the demons from the outside. I cried as I clawed at my father's hand, which had a death grip on my hair.

"What did you say to me?!" demanded Caleb. The man demands submission. And he will get it one way or another.

A hard smack to the face rattled my brain. The familiar coppery taste of blood was on my tongue. I wanted nothing more but to scream and cry, but I held on strong.

The shaking in my bones was steady as my fight for freedom peaked. My hate boiled over the fear within me. It created a hardened husk to cover my broken soul to protect what had left fragments.

I stared into my father's eyes, looking directly into those hateful orbs bloodshot and hazed from beer drinking. The color of our eyes matches, but the life within them is different. One pair of eyes was dead, while the other was fiery.

"Get away from me," I repeated, blood dripping down my lips from the cut caused by the slap. "I'm warning you," I added coldly.

The threat made my father laugh. It was a heavy, drunken chuckle that had spit flying everywhere. The man doesn't take his son's words seriously. He saw it as an empty threat. For years, I had been nothing more than a weakling. I had never fought back before.

"What will you do if I don't?" Caleb asked with a drunken sneer.

I smiled, the hardened look in my eyes turning into a mad one.

I slammed my forehead against my father's nose with enough force to hear a satisfying crack. I felt the warm spray of blood splash on my forehead.

Caleb let out a garbled scream as he pulled away, letting go of me to clutch his broken nose. "You little shit!" Caleb screamed furiously. "I'm going to kill you!" he threatened. His face and his nose are dripping with blood.

"How can you when you're nothing but a drunken pig?" I taunted.

A cry of rage was let loose from Caleb's lips as he lunged at me.

Being more agile and not under the influence, I slipped out of bed and kept my distance between myself and my father. A satisfied look was on my face as I watched Caleb struggle to get to me. "Is something wrong, Dad? Can't move on your fat feet?" I taunted with a cruel laugh.

"Shut up and get over here, Adrian!" Caleb roared.

My father rounded the bed and charged at me. The sudden burst of speed caught me off guard, causing me to back away.

I ended up backing into the corner of my bedroom. 'Shit!' I thought, panicked as my father approached me. My fear is slowly returning and beginning to consume the short-felt confidence.

It was like watching a drunken bull approach me. I could see the imaginary steam billowing out of the man's flaring nostrils. The bloodshot eyes amplify the rage that Caleb is showing on his face.

Caleb grabs me by my hair once again. It's more violent, and I am sure the strands were pulling off a chunk of my scalp. I cried out as I clawed at my father's hand once more.

"I don't know what got into you, but I am ending it now!" Caleb screamed in my face. Saliva and blood spat on my face. Caleb smacked and punched my face repeatedly. I felt the skin above my left eyebrow tear and cause blood to leak into my eye. Bitter laughter swallowed the sound of skin punching skin.

"Please, stop!" I said softly, barely reacting to my father's blows.

The fight within me was dying out like a flickering flame. Just one more blow and I am out.

"And what will you do if I don't?" Caleb asked with a laugh.

It took one clean thrust to the chest.

One powerful push drove through the rib cage and lungs to reach the heart.

The knife pierced Caleb's heart cleanly.

Caleb let out a garbling gasp as he struggled to breathe. The man let go of me and stumbled backward. The older man's face was shocked and surprised as he stared at the knife embedded in his chest.

"I will kill you," I said as I watched my father collapse onto his back. I didn't cry or laugh as my father died on the floor before me. The man didn't deserve my pity or relief.

Stress rolled off my shoulders like a river flowing over stones. I didn't have to look over my shoulder for my father or find a way to lock my bedroom door every night anymore. There will be no more bruises to hide or broken bones caused by fists.

I am free.

Once the life was gone from my father's eyes, I collected the cell phone from my father's jean pocket. My hands didn't shake or fumble as I dialed 911. The beating of my heart wasn't erratic as I spoke to the operator.

"911. What is your emergency?" asked the voice of an older woman.

"My name is Adrian Nighte. My father, he's dead." I said softly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. Did you say your father is dead?" asked the 911 operator.

"Yes . . . I killed my father. He was beating me." I confessed.

The 911 operator goes silent after the confession. I can sense the shock despite not seeing the person's face.

"What is your address?" asked the 911 operator, finally.

I gave my address, my voice soft and calm. Afterward, I ended the call. Then I walked out of the delipidated house and waited.

I wasn't afraid anymore.

I was free from my tormentor. Forever.

I waited quietly for the police, sitting there on the front porch. Watching the blue and red lights grow brighter and brighter as the cars speed down the street.

'I'm so tired.' I thought as I closed my eyes. 'Maybe I can finally sleep peacefully now that He is gone.' I thought.