broken promise land } { Knockin' on Heaven's door
“Idiot. Just like her.”
Zoe froze when she heard the tone in her father’s voice. It was hard and drunk, just like it was every other time. He was bigger than her-a good foot at least, and twice her weight-and she turned slowly to face him. There was something about Harold Dabrowski that sent a shock straight through her system, something that rooted her in place so that she couldn’t move. It was some kind of hold that he had over her, a latent authority that only seemed to bubble to the surface when he was drunk and angry. His father’s anger tended to burn hard and fast, and she rarely ever made it out unscathed. She could steal feel the bruises on her ribs from her father’s last bender, and the fact that he was gearing up for another one so soon was never a good sign.
“Dad.” She looked up at him swallowing hard. “You’re drunk. Why don’t you go to-”
The slap came before she realized it was coming, snapping her head back and throwing her into the counter. He rarely ever hit her on the face-the abuse was easier to cover up that way-but whether or not he cared was a good sign of how far gone he was. And when her father hit her across the face, that was when she was the most terrified. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat it out onto the counter, trying to catch her breath.
“Don’t talk back to me, bitch.”
The bottle of vodka slipped from his grip, shattering against the floor with a smash! She didn’t know what to do. She knew that if she stayed, she was only looking for pain, but if she left, it would only make it worse. So she stayed there, frozen, trying to figure out how to get out of this with as few bruises as possible, but in the meantime, her eyes fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please. Just let me go.”
He just backhanded her again, his ring cutting into her face as she fell to the ground. The wedding ring he still wore, even after all this time, tarnished by regular wear and abuse, and now with her blood, a swath of red across the bottom of the gold band. She looked up at him, trying to avoid the next blow when it came around, but when the foot came up, catching her stomach and slamming her back against the cabinets, she couldn’t help the cry of pain that escaped. And then the kicks just kept coming, over and over again until she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes started to blur, her body caved, and she just waited, patiently for the hits to stop. Only they didn’t.
They kept coming.
And coming.
And coming.
Finally, something in her snapped. It was a self-preservation instinct she didn’t know she had, and something snapped. Her father was suddenly flying across the room, crashing into the refrigerator and landing in a slump on the floor. Zoe stared for a moment, and when she was sure he wasn’t going to get up, she scrambled to her feet, suddenly more scared of herself than anything else. She didn’t know what had done that, but she needed to get out. She needed to run.
She didn’t even bother to check if he was alive or what she looked like before she was running out the door and into the street. She didn’t even know where she was going, she was just running, wanting to get away from the mess in her kitchen and somewhere else. She wasn’t even sure how she would up on Owen’s front door, but she was staring at it for a full five minutes before she realized she was there. If she was clear-headed enough to think about it, it might make sense. There really wasn’t anywhere else for her to go. But right now, she was just trying to get up the nerve to knock on the door.
Owen didn’t need this dragged onto his doorstep, and yet, she was already here. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and knocked before she could change her mind.
707 words
Zoe froze when she heard the tone in her father’s voice. It was hard and drunk, just like it was every other time. He was bigger than her-a good foot at least, and twice her weight-and she turned slowly to face him. There was something about Harold Dabrowski that sent a shock straight through her system, something that rooted her in place so that she couldn’t move. It was some kind of hold that he had over her, a latent authority that only seemed to bubble to the surface when he was drunk and angry. His father’s anger tended to burn hard and fast, and she rarely ever made it out unscathed. She could steal feel the bruises on her ribs from her father’s last bender, and the fact that he was gearing up for another one so soon was never a good sign.
“Dad.” She looked up at him swallowing hard. “You’re drunk. Why don’t you go to-”
The slap came before she realized it was coming, snapping her head back and throwing her into the counter. He rarely ever hit her on the face-the abuse was easier to cover up that way-but whether or not he cared was a good sign of how far gone he was. And when her father hit her across the face, that was when she was the most terrified. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat it out onto the counter, trying to catch her breath.
“Don’t talk back to me, bitch.”
The bottle of vodka slipped from his grip, shattering against the floor with a smash! She didn’t know what to do. She knew that if she stayed, she was only looking for pain, but if she left, it would only make it worse. So she stayed there, frozen, trying to figure out how to get out of this with as few bruises as possible, but in the meantime, her eyes fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please. Just let me go.”
He just backhanded her again, his ring cutting into her face as she fell to the ground. The wedding ring he still wore, even after all this time, tarnished by regular wear and abuse, and now with her blood, a swath of red across the bottom of the gold band. She looked up at him, trying to avoid the next blow when it came around, but when the foot came up, catching her stomach and slamming her back against the cabinets, she couldn’t help the cry of pain that escaped. And then the kicks just kept coming, over and over again until she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes started to blur, her body caved, and she just waited, patiently for the hits to stop. Only they didn’t.
They kept coming.
And coming.
And coming.
Finally, something in her snapped. It was a self-preservation instinct she didn’t know she had, and something snapped. Her father was suddenly flying across the room, crashing into the refrigerator and landing in a slump on the floor. Zoe stared for a moment, and when she was sure he wasn’t going to get up, she scrambled to her feet, suddenly more scared of herself than anything else. She didn’t know what had done that, but she needed to get out. She needed to run.
She didn’t even bother to check if he was alive or what she looked like before she was running out the door and into the street. She didn’t even know where she was going, she was just running, wanting to get away from the mess in her kitchen and somewhere else. She wasn’t even sure how she would up on Owen’s front door, but she was staring at it for a full five minutes before she realized she was there. If she was clear-headed enough to think about it, it might make sense. There really wasn’t anywhere else for her to go. But right now, she was just trying to get up the nerve to knock on the door.
Owen didn’t need this dragged onto his doorstep, and yet, she was already here. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and knocked before she could change her mind.
707 words