(Trigger Warning): ⚠️ This chapter contains descriptions of domestic violence, emotional abuse, and suggestions of abusive behavior. If these topics may cause you distress, please read with care or skip this passage.
I took off my dirty sneakers at the door and stepped inside. The TV was blaring on a news channel, but the living room was empty. My stomach twisted with worry, despite the anger I felt toward my mother. At least traces of her presence were there: the kettle was boiling over on the stove, and the sink was full of unwashed dishes.
I sighed briefly and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. I grabbed the damp sponge from the edge of the sink, ignoring the fruit flies dancing in the air, drawn to a jar of spoiled jam.
The kitchen was a disaster. And I knew that if I didn't do something, no one would.
My father's voice came from the hallway, followed by another – livelier – and then laughter. I froze with my hand on the faucet. I didn't lift my gaze when he appeared in the doorway. He walked past me indifferently, reeking of smoke and cheap wine. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday – stained with something greasy and sweaty underneath his fake leather jacket.
Behind him came Bruno.
Bruno, my father's friend and sponsor who helped him manage the bar, was wearing a suit trying too hard to look expensive. His overpowering cologne filled the kitchen in an instant.
— God, Orlando, your daughter's grown so much! Almost thought you married someone else!
He smiled broadly. He approached me too quickly, and I tensed as he grabbed my hand and kissed it theatrically.
— Miss Liliana, an honor to see you looking so beautiful, after all this time...
— Hello, Bruno... I didn't know you were coming, I replied softly, pulling my hand back. My eyes darted to my father, who had already sat at the table without saying a word.
— Your father said it's better to talk here. It's more… private. But how are you? Started school yet?
My cheeks burned. This interaction made me feel like a stranger in my own home. Why did I have to talk to him?
Bruno was scanning me from head to toe, and my bare legs suddenly felt too exposed. I felt attacked by his gaze.
— Yeah… I started, I said almost in a whisper.
Dad spoke up, but not how I hoped.
— Where's your mother?
That was usually the only question he ever asked me. When he wasn't ignoring me completely, Dad only talked to me about Mom. She was the only one who could still provoke a reaction from him – even if it was irritation. A trace of jealousy had lodged in my chest a long time ago. I know it's wrong, but the way I'm treated is wrong too. If only he knew what Mom did…
His question made me blink a few times, caught off guard.
— When I came in, she was sleeping.
He nodded and gestured for Bruno to sit. Then he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
— Go upstairs.
I obey and climb the stairs to my room, where I find Mom unchanged, sleeping just like I told Dad. I approach her slowly, with fear, and listen to her pulse. She's breathing softly — which calms me. I lie next to her and stare at the ceiling. Eventually, I change her clothes and gently clean her face. I spot her bag next to the bed, grab it and hide it in the closet, away from everyone's eyes... from Dad's eyes.
I also change into house clothes, but the piercing ring of the landline phone scratches the room's walls and forces me to go downstairs. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I see Dad with the receiver in hand. His voice is low, serious. He turns, sees me on the stairs, with my lower lip between my teeth and fear dug deep in my eyes, in my soul.
Bruno comes out of the kitchen, curious:
— Who is it?
Dad gives him a short glance, then turns to me, nodding briefly and coldly. Then he hangs up the phone.
That night I didn't sleep a wink. I'm sure it was the school that had called. Dad left me there alone, my heart pounding like a wild insect in my chest, and then returned calmly to the kitchen with Bruno. Had he talked to him about me? That thought made me tense. I tossed and turned in bed dozens of times, unable to find rest. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. But something inside me wouldn't let me — a nasty, cold feeling that spread through my entire body, not letting me feel at peace even for a second.
In the morning, I saw Dad on the couch. He was drinking coffee quietly, dressed in clean clothes. I usually never see anyone in the morning. His presence there caught me off guard.
— You going to school? he looked up from his cup and scanned me from head to toe.
— Yeah, I replied shortly, as I put on my shoes.
He was silent for a few moments, with that expression that analyzed every word.
— Take care.
I left the house with even more unanswered questions. That day, I took the same familiar road to school — the one I'd walked a thousand times. What I didn't know was that it would be the last time.
It had been a week since Dad made me help him at the bar. I had a feeling Bruno had a say in it. A week among thick cigarette smoke and the heavy stench of alcohol. The tables full of loud people drove me crazy.
While I cursed in my mind and washed glasses, the voice of the news anchor caught my attention on the small TV in the middle of the bar.
A murder. Right in our town.
With my sleeves rolled up and my hands red from so much cold water, I stepped closer. The customers had gone quiet. Everyone was listening.
"A 28-year-old woman met a tragic end following an argument with her husband. The 34-year-old man stabbed her 17 times in the chest, claiming she had cheated on him. The incident took place in their shared home, and witnesses — neighbors of the couple — stated they heard screams and violent noises. Paramedics arrived quickly, but the woman was already deceased."
— These women... if they don't behave, look what happens! a gruff voice rose from a corner, accompanied by cigarette smoke.
— Whoring is a big sin, added another, looking smugly at the women at his table. That's what happens, ladies.
Laughter, "that's right, man," and murmurs of agreement filled the bar. Everyone tried to sound more convincing. No one seemed to feel the chill of horror.
Me... I was just grateful that, for a moment, I wasn't their target.
But a presence behind me froze my blood.
I turned around.
Bruno.
A charismatic smile — the kind he used with women who didn't know his true face.
The fact that he was looking at a seventeen-year-old girl with that kind of interest should worry any woman who interacts with him.
But it doesn't seem to bother anyone.
Just me.
After he walks past me, he sits down contentedly.
Dad comes out of the storage room, grabs two beers and places them on the counter — one for himself, one for Bruno.
— I scared you, didn't I? I'm sorry, doll. Didn't mean to.
He makes himself comfortable at the bar, while I wipe my hands on the damp apron, trying to hide my uneasiness.
— I guess that news got to you... the guy who killed his girl. Really nasty stuff.
He looks at me, his face mimicking sympathy.
— I don't want to scare you, but you're a beautiful girl. And it's not very safe out there... especially at night. Just look at what men can do...
Pause.
— I'll walk you home, it's late. Only if you want... but it really would be safer, seriously.
I bite my tongue.
It wasn't the first time he offered, but it was the first time he did it in front of Dad.
And the tone... too soft, too suggestive.
He smelled of spilled beer, of tobacco... and of warning.
— We'll see, I say quietly, pretending to wash a glass that was already clean.
But I barely finish speaking when Dad's deep voice breaks the silence.
He had slammed the beer bottle on the counter after gulping all the liquid in one go.
— Walk her home.