I'm walking home from school when I turn the corner to enter my street. My house is situated at the end of the road, but it no longer resembles the loving home I grew up in. The small patch of land in front of the house was once alive with beautiful flowers. Since my father's death, the grass is strewn with rubbish and empty wrappers. Disappointment settles in my stomach as I remember how much my father loved to tend to his flowers in the early weeks of spring. When I reach the front door, I pause before taking a deep breath to prepare myself. I enter the key slowly and with caution due to not wanting to wake Trevor.

His routine when he isn't in work consists of falling asleep in front of the television during the day. As soon as I enter the house, I hear his snores and laboured breathing echoing from the room. The grunts he releases between each breath reminds me of a pig. He bears a striking resemblance to the animal with his bald head, short nose and pale flushed skin. I've always wondered what Mom saw in him...Perhaps its his hefty bank balance.

Despite being young, I remember when she started dating Trevor. Within weeks, she claimed she was madly in love and moved him into the home. It wasn't long after that when he started to beat her. It started off small, just like any other domestic abuse relationship. It soon progressed into regular beatings that caused Mom to shrink into herself. She withered away in front of me until her strength and independence didn't exist anymore. Trevor took all of the good parts of her and replaced it with the ghost of a Mom I once remember.

My father raised me to be courageous and stand up for what's right. Once I felt brave enough, I stood up to Trevor in an attempt to protect Mom. I'd run in front of her so his hands wouldn't meet her body. I yelled at him until I was red in the face for him to leave her alone. Trevor didn't react well to my bravery. It started off with throwing me out of the way until it quickly developed into regular beatings. He despised me for showing traits my father taught me.

My jaw turns rigid when I replay the times he'd beaten me as a little girl.

His actions caused me to despise anyone who showed a sliver of violence. A home should be filled with love, support and laughter. Trevor took that away and replaced it with silence, fear and darkness. I've thought about reaching out for help multiple times. Trevor's threats would instantly pull me back into line.

"If you tell anyone, I'll find out and I'll end you." He'd sneer in my face. His dark eyes glimmered with sick satisfaction when he noticed the fear exuding from me. There's no doubt about it, I'm officially trapped in this hell hole until I turn eighteen. I'll have no money, no family and no roof over my head but that's better than living a life in fear. I have twelve months and two weeks to go until my eighteenth birthday.

My breathing catches in my throat when Trevor stirs in his armchair. His hand is clutching a beer, and the scent of smoke mixed with alcohol clouds the air. I cover my nose to mask the scent and focus on climbing the stairs without making a noise. I'm becoming a professional at creeping around the house, especially knowing which creaky floorboards to avoid.

Once I'm safely in my room, I lock the door and breathe a sigh of relief. I kick off my trainers before reaching for a hair scrunchie. Pain explodes in my scalp as soon as I tie my hair out of my face. I release a small whimper before reaching up to touch the missing patch of hair. As soon as I remove my makeup, I'm faced with the bruise paying rent under my right eye. I press against it lightly before releasing a soft sigh of defeat. I'm distracted by the sound of my phone ringing. I reach for it before automatically pressing the answer button. I expect Trish's voice to fill the line, but there's an eerie silence on the other end.

"Hello?" I call out uneasily. "Trish? Is that you?" I expect it to be a wrong number, but the deep voice that calls my name sounds like it's intended to freak me out.

"Emily." He speaks quietly in a low tone. The sound of his voice calls my heart to drop to the pit of my stomach. "Who is this?" I don't recognise the voice.

"Don't act stupid, little girl. It's your father." The voice speaks in a mocking tone. The chill that runs down my spine causes my hands to freeze up. My breathing catches in the back of my throat and I release a trembling breath of shock. I pull the phone away from me before blinking several times. The sound of his laughter can be heard coming from the other end of the line. My nausea turns into anger and I press my phone against my ear to give the stranger a piece of my mind.

"Is this your idea of a good time? Prank calling the girl with a dead father? You're pathetic. Who gave you the —" The call is cut off, and I'm left alone in silence. His chilling laughter echoes in my ears and I stare at the phone in disbelief.

"Jerk!" I blow out with frustration before tossing my cell phone onto my bed.

I try to go ahead with my nightly routine, but I can't seem to shake the eerie phone call. I try to label it as a prank call but it feels more than that. Later that night, I toss and turn in bed. My father's face fills my mind as soon as I close my eyes. His expression is filled with a deep sadness. His dark eyes mirror mine, empty and emotionless. I give up trying to sleep and stare up at the ceiling until the darkness in my room is replaced with the beginnings of a sunrise.

*

My favourite mornings are when Trevor leaves for work early. As soon as I hear the front door slam shut, I feel a wave of relief wash over me. I'm able to get ready for school without distraction or fear. I can walk around the house without looking over my shoulder. I don't have to tread silently or hold my breath whenever I hear him coming toward me. Despite having little sleep, I find myself smiling as I get ready without worry. I often wonder how I'm able to smile when I feel dead on the inside.

I push through the kitchen door in search of breakfast. My eyes scan over the cluttered kitchen, the dirty floors and the messy countertops. "I can't wait to get out of this goddamn house." I mutter under my breath while stepping over piles of rubbish. I clear a section at the dining table before taking a seat with my cereal. It wasn't always like this. Mom and Dad were incredibly house proud. My happiness isn't the only thing that changed when my father died.

I'm midway through breakfast when Mom enters the kitchen. I glance at her from the corner of my eyes and my shoulders automatically tense in her presence. She takes a seat beside me and doesn't appear to be affected by the rubbish surrounding her. Being in a relationship with Trevor has definitely burned away a portion of her brain cells. I feel her gaze lingering on me, almost as if she wants to speak. I drop my spoon into my bowl of cereal before turning toward her.

"What do you want?" I ask abruptly. My tone is filled with hatred for her. The respect I had for Mom quickly disappeared when she invited a monster into our home. I hoped for years she would wake up and see sense, but the day never came.

"I'd like to talk to you." Mom says while lighting up her cigarette at the table. She inhales on the end before blowing out the smoke in my direction. I wave my hand around in front of me before shuffling as far away from her as I can. A scowl of disgust takes over my face.

"Can you not smoke in front of me? There's nothing I want to talk to you about." I grab hold of my cereal bowl to take it over to the sink. My appetite has quickly vanished and I want nothing more than to get as far away from her as soon as possible. Mom releases a heavy sigh, acting like she's an exhausted parent with a difficult teenager.

"All I'm asking for is five minutes of your time. Can't you do that for your Mom?" She releases a forced laugh before dropping the ash from her cigarette onto the dining table. I grit my teeth in frustration before sliding an ashtray toward her. I fold my arms over my chest before staring blankly at her.

"I haven't had a Mom for a very long time. Maybe I'd be more inclined to listen to you if you were a good parent to me." I say bitterly. Looking at my Mom feels like I'm looking in the mirror at an older version of myself. We share the same high cheekbones, full lips and olive skin. The chocolate brown in her eyes is identical to mine, and I wish I didn't look so identical to a woman who failed so miserably to be a parent and a good person. Mom glances up at me with emptiness in her eyes.

"That's not fair, Emily. I tried to be a good parent to you." I immediately scoff in disbelief before pressing my palms into my eyes. I don't have time to dive into my parental problems right now. I take a deep breath before forcing a tight smile on my face.

"A good parent doesn't stand back and allow their husband to beat up their daughter. A good parent would defend their only child when a strange man starts beating them from the age of eight!" I say firmly while placing both hands onto the table. I lean down until my face is hovering over hers. My chest rises and falls with anger, and I can feel myself spiralling toward an angry outburst.

"You are not a good parent." I say quietly before reaching for my backpack. At first, I tried to make excuses for Mom. I convinced myself she was scared of Trevor and that's why she didn't defend me. I tried to convince myself I was better off taking her beatings as long as she didn't have to endure the pain. I wanted to be a good daughter, but I didn't gain a good Mom in return. As a child, I craved to have a good relationship with her. She's my only surviving parent and I idolised her simply for being the woman that gave birth to me. I gave her chance after chance, and made up excuse after excuse for her. When I screamed for her to save me, she would quietly walk to a different room and shut the door so she didn't have to hear my cries for help. Her ignorance disgusted me and made me lose all respect for her.

How do you choose to ignore an innocent child when they're crying out for help?

"I have to get out of here," I say quietly, desperately needing to create space between us. The longer I spend time in her presence, the more I'm made aware of how deeply she failed me. I feel like I'm drowning in a bottomless pool and I need to reach the surface if I have any chance of stealing some air. I try to walk past her, but she stops me by grabbing hold of my arm.

"I had a call from your Aunt Mandy yesterday evening." Her words earn my attention, and I glance down at her in surprise.

"We haven't heard from her since..." My words trail off when I realise it's been as long as my fathers death. As soon as he died, people avoided us like the plague. We stopped visiting family and I was quickly immersed into a life of loneliness. It felt like nobody could bear to be around us in case our grief weighed them down too. I felt like I'd been abandoned and forgotten about by my extended family. "Why did she call?" I ask Mom.

"She's getting married on Saturday and I've accepted the invitation. We'll all be attending."

"Trevor isn't family, he shouldn't be invited." I argue back with her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Trevor is our family. It will be nice to introduce him to everyone. Don't you think it's time?" She gushes over him with a love-sick smile on her face. I stare at her in complete shock and disbelief. Why is she so blind to reality? Can she not see the bruise under my eye, or the pain in my expression with every step I take? Is she deaf to my cries for Trevor to leave me alone?

"There is no way I'm playing happy families with you and Trevor. I'm not going," I pry my arm out of her hold in an attempt to walk away. Mom releases her hold on me before standing up. She rifles in her pocket before emerging with money. She hands it over to me silently.

"Buy yourself something nice for the wedding, Emily." Mum says quietly. I shake my head in protest before handing the money back to her. "I'm not going. I refuse to play along with yours and Trevor's facade." I swing my backpack over my shoulder before heading for the door. As soon as my hand rests on the door handle, Mom breaks the tense silence in the kitchen.

"Trevor won't be happy to hear that. You know what he'll do if you disobey me." Her voice is quiet, but filled with a knowing tone. I freeze in the doorway before turning to look at her. She's hiding behind her hair while slowly inhaling on the cigarette. Her attempt to avoid eye contact with me is pathetic. My heart ferociously thuds against my chest when I realise she's threatening me with Trevor.

"Are you threatening me with him?" I whisper in disbelief. My hard facade crumbles to the ground and I feel fresh tears sting my eyes at my mothers betrayal. What did I do to deserve this? As expected, she doesn't respond. I lean forward to swipe the money from the table. I hate to cry, but a single tear slips from my eye before rolling down my cheek.

"That's a new low, Mom... even for you." I whisper in a broken tone before walking away from her.