Breaking Free

"I want to wear this shirt and these pants today, is that okay daddy?" I ask my father, wanting his approval on my school outfit.
"They're fine," he says gruffly in return.
"What's wrong today, daddy?" I ask sweetly.
"I don't know," he answers.
I can tell by the look in his eyes that he is in some sort of bad mood. I know that I didn't cause it because I've been cleaning and doing dishes all morning. The same thing I do before school each day.
"If you need anything, let me know," I tell him.
I walk back into my bedroom and put on the clothes that I'm going to wear to school today. Along with having my outfits approved by my father, I have to make sure my hair is worn down and loose around my face. There are a pair of glasses waiting for me on the night stand waiting for me to adorn my face with them. I hate them so much, but it's why my father requires me to wear.
I'm so tired of having to cover my face with the ugly brown rimmed, plastic lens glasses. They are hideous and people give me odd stares when I walk by. I don't like them one bit and when I finally work up the courage to tell my father I don't want them anymore, I will break them into a million pieces.
After I put on the baggy, dark blue jeans and the oversized green sweatshirt, I pull my hair out of the ponytail it has inhibited all weekend long and let it hang around my face. The bright red of the hair clashes horribly with the green shirt and I feel like a Christmas bauble.
I keep thinking to myself that I only have a couple more years left of this abuse and I'll be able to break free from my father and everything that he's done to me, but at the same time, I feel guilty for even thinking that way because I know that he'll withdraw from the world if I'm not around.
I don't hate my father, but I do hate the way he treats me. He treats me like his little slave girl and frankly, I've had enough of it.
I decide to throw a plain, white tee shirt into my backpack before I leave the house so I can change once I get to school. It's too hot for the sweatshirt and I know my father won't know about my change of outfits once I'm in school because he never checks in on me.
This is the first act of rebellion that I've had against my father in a very long time. The last time I tried something like this, I got in a lot of trouble. I have been terrified since then to do anything else against his will.
I tried, in the eighth grade to wear clothes under what my father approved of as my 'going in public' clothes, but he caught on to that pretty quickly and I suffered greatly at his hand because of it. He even kept me home from school until the bruise on my cheek faded.
I leave the house, my stomach in knots thinking about my father possibly checking my backpack before I go, but I'm thankful that he doesn't, that means that I'm in the clear.
As soon as I get to the bus stop, it's the type that is wooden all the way around with a door cut out, I slide inside and pull my sweatshirt off and pull the tee shirt on quickly. I slip back into the sweatshirt and walk back out of the bus house. I wait patiently for the bus to show up.
I pace around nervously and freeze as my dad drives by to go to work. He shoots me a small wave as he passes me. For some reason I thought that he was going to stop and check on my outfit although he never usually does.
Something about rebellion made me nervous!
When the school bus finally shows up, I file on like I do five days a week. As soon as my butt meets the seat, I pull my ugly green sweatshirt off and shove it into my backpack.
I sit there in the bus seat feeling oddly freed. I'm not in a bulky sweatshirt, the tee shirt that I'm in actually shows off some of my natural curves and I feel somewhat pretty. I also decide to ditch the glasses into my bag. I'm not brave enough to pull my hair off of my face just yet. I'll work my way up to it.