And I'm So Naive.
not surprised, we're broken
"Dakota!"
My father screamed from the main floor. My eyes popped open and I sat up in bed, looking around. Shit. I slept through my alarm. Panicked I chuck my blanket onto the floor and run to my door, opening it to call back to him.
"Daddy?"
"Git your ass down here! Now!"
Ah shit.
I raced down the stairs once I put on some actual clothes [I sleep practically naked save for my panties] and jumped the last two stairs, a habit that I had developed when I was six. My father stood in the kitchen with his cellphone in his hand and the frying pan in the other. He was going to work, and I didn't make him breakfast. I instantly step back, covering my chest. My father isn't afraid to chuck things at me, and I didn't need more bruises to prove it.
"Daddy?"
I asked meekly. He looked up at me and huffed, before throwing the pan on the floor. I shrieked from the sound and then I covered my mouth; he hates it when I yell. He glared at me and pointed to the pan, a vein beginning to bulge in his neck. That can't be healthy.
"It's not clean from last night's dinner. I thought you knew better than to leave a mess."
Shit. Shitshitshit.
"I-I forgot, Dad. I was doing the o-other dishes."
He lunged foreward and grabbed me, his stubby fingers digging hard into my upper arm. I bit back the pained squeal, and covered my mouth with my free hand as he stared at me. He wasn't having a good day and I wasn't helping.
"Clean the fucking pan. You're grounded."
What?!!
"Grounded?! Daddy, I had plans today!"
"That's too fucking bad, princess. Don't fucking leave the house until all of your chores are finished, and I may have some more for you."
He pushed me away and I stumbled back, pouting. More chores? Great! I should have double checked my work last night but I didn't, and this is what I get. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
"Clean your room, the bathroom and the kitchen. Make sure the living room is vacuumed. Oh, and dinner on the table would be nice, too."
With that Dad walked out. I sighed, stomped my foot like the immature eighteen year old I am, and headed off to my room to start on my chores.
My father screamed from the main floor. My eyes popped open and I sat up in bed, looking around. Shit. I slept through my alarm. Panicked I chuck my blanket onto the floor and run to my door, opening it to call back to him.
"Daddy?"
"Git your ass down here! Now!"
Ah shit.
I raced down the stairs once I put on some actual clothes [I sleep practically naked save for my panties] and jumped the last two stairs, a habit that I had developed when I was six. My father stood in the kitchen with his cellphone in his hand and the frying pan in the other. He was going to work, and I didn't make him breakfast. I instantly step back, covering my chest. My father isn't afraid to chuck things at me, and I didn't need more bruises to prove it.
"Daddy?"
I asked meekly. He looked up at me and huffed, before throwing the pan on the floor. I shrieked from the sound and then I covered my mouth; he hates it when I yell. He glared at me and pointed to the pan, a vein beginning to bulge in his neck. That can't be healthy.
"It's not clean from last night's dinner. I thought you knew better than to leave a mess."
Shit. Shitshitshit.
"I-I forgot, Dad. I was doing the o-other dishes."
He lunged foreward and grabbed me, his stubby fingers digging hard into my upper arm. I bit back the pained squeal, and covered my mouth with my free hand as he stared at me. He wasn't having a good day and I wasn't helping.
"Clean the fucking pan. You're grounded."
What?!!
"Grounded?! Daddy, I had plans today!"
"That's too fucking bad, princess. Don't fucking leave the house until all of your chores are finished, and I may have some more for you."
He pushed me away and I stumbled back, pouting. More chores? Great! I should have double checked my work last night but I didn't, and this is what I get. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
"Clean your room, the bathroom and the kitchen. Make sure the living room is vacuumed. Oh, and dinner on the table would be nice, too."
With that Dad walked out. I sighed, stomped my foot like the immature eighteen year old I am, and headed off to my room to start on my chores.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm working on Feel this Moment, i promise.I just dont have Matt muse right now :c
So, have some Jimmy<3
x