Daddy's Little Darlings
Hurt
I get a phone call, at four-o-clock, from Tasha. She sounds worried.
" Why weren't you in school today?" she asks. I have a perfect atendance-I don't want people to think of who I really am. I lie, say I was sick, and put the phone down. It's sad that my mates don't know who I am. I want to tell them, but I can't.
I phone the hospital, ask how Mum is. The news isn't good. They say she had a bad night, and is very restless and very sick. They say that she'll stay in for another week or so, and then she'll have to take tablets.
" Why?" I ask, but they won't tell me. My mother is sick, alright-sick in the head.
I phone Danny's mobile, but nobody answers. I phone his best friend, Spencer, but his mum says that Spencer isn't in, and has been trying to phone Danny himself all night.
I wish I had other family to rescue me, but I don't. Mum and Dad were both only children, and my grandparents are dead.
I listen to my music and get a shower and put on fresh clothes. I brush my hair, start my maths homework and start to cook tea. I have cooked for myself plenty of times before-when Mum's been in hospital and Dad's been in the pub and Danny has stayed the night with his friends because he's too scared. My Food Tech teacher in school said I was very good at using electrical equipment, but I didn't tell her why. I just smiled and shrugged and acted modest.
I eat my tea and finish my homework and iron my uniform for tomorrow. I am taking on my school indentity. I'm a pro now. I clean the house, wash the dishes and sit down with my fave black cushion and patterned blankie* I know, totally babyish, but I need some comfort* and put on the T.V. I would be a great actress. I am already.
Dad comes back at six, even though he finished work an hour ago and it is in walking distance. He smells distinctly of vodka, but I ignore that. I want to ignore him, but that would land me in more trouble.
" Hi, Dad," I say quietly, nervously. " Good day at work?"
Dad blinks, surprised. I am not a sociable person. I don't go deep and meaningful.
" Not really, no. Why?"
" Just wondering. Do you want anything?I could cook, if you like. Or something like that."
Dad shakes his head and peers at me strangly.
" How was school?"
" Errr...." . Dad always wants me to go to school and be a perfect, grade-A student, which I am, most of the time. He told me once that if I ever bunked off, I would never go to school again and I would be home-schooled and that I would become a social out-cast. Nice.
" It was great," I lie. " Well, as great as school can get. "
I go into detail about lessons, faking and faking until it gets very easy. Dad will never find out, will he?
The phone rings, and Dad answers it.
" Hello? It's her dad....what?Oh. Okay. Right. Well, goodbye."
Dad puts the phone down, with a face of thunder. This isn't good.
" That was Hannah," he snaps. " Asking why you weren't in school today."
I hold my breath.
" So? Why weren't you in school today?"
" I.....I don't know. I didn't feel like going in."
Wrong answer.
" I don't care! You're getting an education! My taxes pay for you to go to school! You're so ungrateful, Reilly Burton. You're not my daughter at all!"
" Sometimes I wish I wasn't!" I yell back, and I get hit, again. This is the second time I have ever been hit by my father, but it isn't the last. He doesn't stop, no matter how many times I cry out for him to stop, that I'll be good. He only stops when he leaves for the pub again.
I stay on the sofa, curled up and crying, staining the cushiosn with my blood. There's a mettalic taste in my mouth, and I want to die.
When Dad gets back, he is drunk and angry, and he takes it out on me. It hurts. I don't want to go into school tomorrow, but I will, even if it blows my cover. I want to live.
" Why weren't you in school today?" she asks. I have a perfect atendance-I don't want people to think of who I really am. I lie, say I was sick, and put the phone down. It's sad that my mates don't know who I am. I want to tell them, but I can't.
I phone the hospital, ask how Mum is. The news isn't good. They say she had a bad night, and is very restless and very sick. They say that she'll stay in for another week or so, and then she'll have to take tablets.
" Why?" I ask, but they won't tell me. My mother is sick, alright-sick in the head.
I phone Danny's mobile, but nobody answers. I phone his best friend, Spencer, but his mum says that Spencer isn't in, and has been trying to phone Danny himself all night.
I wish I had other family to rescue me, but I don't. Mum and Dad were both only children, and my grandparents are dead.
I listen to my music and get a shower and put on fresh clothes. I brush my hair, start my maths homework and start to cook tea. I have cooked for myself plenty of times before-when Mum's been in hospital and Dad's been in the pub and Danny has stayed the night with his friends because he's too scared. My Food Tech teacher in school said I was very good at using electrical equipment, but I didn't tell her why. I just smiled and shrugged and acted modest.
I eat my tea and finish my homework and iron my uniform for tomorrow. I am taking on my school indentity. I'm a pro now. I clean the house, wash the dishes and sit down with my fave black cushion and patterned blankie* I know, totally babyish, but I need some comfort* and put on the T.V. I would be a great actress. I am already.
Dad comes back at six, even though he finished work an hour ago and it is in walking distance. He smells distinctly of vodka, but I ignore that. I want to ignore him, but that would land me in more trouble.
" Hi, Dad," I say quietly, nervously. " Good day at work?"
Dad blinks, surprised. I am not a sociable person. I don't go deep and meaningful.
" Not really, no. Why?"
" Just wondering. Do you want anything?I could cook, if you like. Or something like that."
Dad shakes his head and peers at me strangly.
" How was school?"
" Errr...." . Dad always wants me to go to school and be a perfect, grade-A student, which I am, most of the time. He told me once that if I ever bunked off, I would never go to school again and I would be home-schooled and that I would become a social out-cast. Nice.
" It was great," I lie. " Well, as great as school can get. "
I go into detail about lessons, faking and faking until it gets very easy. Dad will never find out, will he?
The phone rings, and Dad answers it.
" Hello? It's her dad....what?Oh. Okay. Right. Well, goodbye."
Dad puts the phone down, with a face of thunder. This isn't good.
" That was Hannah," he snaps. " Asking why you weren't in school today."
I hold my breath.
" So? Why weren't you in school today?"
" I.....I don't know. I didn't feel like going in."
Wrong answer.
" I don't care! You're getting an education! My taxes pay for you to go to school! You're so ungrateful, Reilly Burton. You're not my daughter at all!"
" Sometimes I wish I wasn't!" I yell back, and I get hit, again. This is the second time I have ever been hit by my father, but it isn't the last. He doesn't stop, no matter how many times I cry out for him to stop, that I'll be good. He only stops when he leaves for the pub again.
I stay on the sofa, curled up and crying, staining the cushiosn with my blood. There's a mettalic taste in my mouth, and I want to die.
When Dad gets back, he is drunk and angry, and he takes it out on me. It hurts. I don't want to go into school tomorrow, but I will, even if it blows my cover. I want to live.