7 - Innocent

After hours of laundry runs, folding and hanging the clothes, straightening and reorganising their bedroom, preparing lunch, and so forth, there was no time left to prepare dinner.

Slam! The front door whacked the frame with so much force, the vibration made their bedroom door tremble.

Erin jumped to her feet, horror washing across her face. "Oh no! I forgot dinner!" She panicked as she clutched her head.

"It's ok, Erin." Robin struggled to keep the little girl still as she clutched her arms tight enough to not hurt her. "I'll take care of him. You just focus on cleaning up your dolls, alright."

When Erin was finally calm enough to give Robin's words full attention, she nodded.

"It'll be alright, I promise. It's my fault anyway. I'm older than you, and I should've been more responsible. Don't worry, Erin, please." She forced an encouraging smile as she ran her hand through Erin's curls. Standing up, she exhaled deeply.

With a slight head shake, Erin took large handfuls of her toys while trying to dump them silently into the bin.

Robin gulped, closing her palm around the door handle. Her chest was pounding.

Their bedroom door opened without so much of a sound, almost as if it too were terrified to the man somewhere in the house, ready to explode his temper.

Robin hushed her nerves as she rehearsed her lines. She opted to walk with confidence as she met Mr Bishop in the kitchen with the yellow post-it note, that hung on the fridge, in his tight fist. She noticed his hardened jaw and knit eyebrows. Stopping, she stayed silent, her confidence draining out by the second as she watched him.

His chest rose and fell with impatience and his unoccupied fist flexed and curled. The crack of his neck made Robin flinch. When he opened his eyes, she caught his fiery glare.

"Mr Bishop." Robin boldly stepped forward. As she waited for him to respond, she stopped her hands from fidgeting. The inside of her mouth felt as dry as plywood baking in the sun's heat.

"Why isn't my dinner on the table?" He chewed his lip.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to cook your meal. I'll get on it right away."

"No, get Erin and stay up there until I tell you to come back downstairs."

"Sir, this is my fault entirely. I was-"

"Go upstairs, now and get Erin."

"Don't blame her. You specifically ordered me to make your dinner. I'm responsible for neglecting your meal, not her."

"If you don't get Erin in this room and your ass up those stairs by the time I count to five, you'll both be in some serious shit," he threatened, barely containing his temper. He began counting up, but Robin stood her ground.

"Five." His face twisted as his eyebrow quriked. "Fine. Erin! Get-"

"No! I told you it was my fault, my responsibility. I'm older than her, I should've managed our time better. Don't punish her for my mistake." Robin realised the words spewing out of her mouth were only making her grave deeper. At the rate she was going, she might as well jump into the pit and bury herself.

He quirked his brow and scoffed, his face had a look of astonishment at the authority in her voice. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as his eyes darkened.

Robin stood in silence waiting on baited breath for his words. She could feel the moisture wicking from her armpits and back into her skin, but she dared not to adjust her shirt. In her experience, even the slightest signs of nervousness would send her a one-way ticket to the floor by a flying fist.

Mr Bishop stared intently at Robin. His eyes narrowed to slits as his face wore a stern scowl. The bunched fists at his waist made his knuckles turn to the colour of cream. His body shook, but she could tell the tremor was not of fear. The floors creaked as he shifted his weight.

It was a waiting game similar to that of fishing. No one moved, no one made a sound, no one did anything but allow the clock on the wall to tick.

Suddenly, the contempt wrapped on his face loosened as his fists dropped. His shoulders rolled back as he puffed his chest and tisked. Mr Bishop rolled his eyes as his arms sat on his chest. "Fine. I'll let the both of you go this one time. Don't fuck up again, you hear? Or else I'll make you wish you got tonight's punishment. Are we clear?" He ended his lousy pep talk with a glare as he kicked up his feet on the sofa.

Robin blinked with astonishment. Her father was never one for second chances, and she had fully expected some sort of violent response. She had even prepared for it. With a shaky nod, Robin slipped past him, bowing her head and avoiding his stormy eyes.

"Erin," Mr Bishop called from his seat.

Robin snapped her head around to meet his voice. Her eyes widened with concern as her heartbeat soared.

As quick as a hiccup, Erin was beside her father.

"Get packing, your mother's coming tomorrow."

She smiled. "Ok, Daddy," Erin chirped.

Robin's shoulders relaxed a little at the mention of Erin's mother. The released tension in her muscles was slight. Once Mr Bishop turned back to the television, Robin drew out the dishes. The meal was easy enough to make. After all, the directions were printed on the box. As she poured in the pasta, they clattered against the sides of the pot. She had to boil water first.

The pot bubbled, snapping her attention back for a moment. As she gave the pot two full circles, she rested her hand on her hip. Biting her lip, she examined the gurgling foam.

A sharp coldness pierced her spine. Even though the television was on, Robin could feel his eyes on her. She did not appreciate people watching her, but she did not like them never paying attention either. In five days, it had gone from one extreme to another. Gosh, she couldn't win could she?

Stirring the pot of boxed macaroni and cheese, she added in the cheese packet, squeezing her uneasiness out. Reaching the bowls, she scooped the pasta until the three bowls were even.

Biting back her pride, she handed him his meal, "I'm sorry I forgot about dinner, Mr Bishop. It won't happen again."

"Better not. Erin, dinner's ready! Get your ass to the table when you're finished packing and eat."

She flinched at his words but ignored them. Language and the words chosen were a personal choice she decided not to argue about. Retreating to the dining table, she set Erin's bowl in front of a chair. Sitting down, she slowly began eating.

The Super bowl had been on practically everyone's television almost a two weeks ago, including her family's. Memories of the final days her parents lived on Earth, flooded into her brain.

"Yeah, look, I'll give you your money. Alright, just give me a week!" The man begged across the burner phone.

She jumped, stopping mid-step, hearing the trash bin slam into the wall. Setting down his meal, Robin peaked in the crack of the door watching her father down a Budweiser beer.

Her father cradled his head, shaking it. Shifting a little, she counted another three bottles at the throat of the collapsed can. Suddenly, he was on his feet stomping toward the door. She stepped back with nowhere to go.

His angry bloodshot eyes settled on her in the unlit hallway. With no words to say, each of them stood silent. Robin stared at her father who towered over her by a good five inches. She certainly had her mother's height.

"What are you staring at, girl?" His aggressive tone made her flinch and turn her gaze.

"N-nothing."

"What, you spying on me now? Working for the police, hmm?"

"No Sir, I promise!" Robin shook her head furiously as she backed into the wall. His eyes narrowed, trying to spot deceit in her darkening gaze.

"Take your shirt off, now!" The man balled his fists, her pupils dilated in shock.

"Please, no. I would never betray you! I swear!"

Thwack! Robin's cheek flushed as his palm slammed into her face. No matter how many times that had been done, she couldn't stop the tears that surfaced. She grunted as she shielded her face from another smack.

"Remove your frigging shirt now!" The red in his drunken eyes told her he was not playing.

"Daddy, please," she tried to appeal to his morality.

"Ugh!" His fist plummeted into her stomach as he took the chance to strike her ribs again. Tears washed down her face, the salt seeped into her mouth. Hunched over, her back curled as Robin gasped for air. Pain scoured through her irritated bones that had finally healed. The ugly violet pigment had shaded to yellow-green just a week ago.

"Last chance, Robin. I swear to God."

"Please, no!"

He kicked the back of her knee, lurching her forward. Falling to the ground with a thud, she managed to turn belly up. Grabbing her collar, he rammed her spine into the wall. Yelping like a whipped dog, she hung her head as he pinned her against the concrete.

She let out a strangled sob as she fought to stay alert, "Stop! Please! I'm not hiding anything!"

With a firm tug, her shirt lifted from her chest. It landed on the floor behind him in a clump. Despite the pain in her torso, Robin clutched her chest, hiding her clothed breasts from his prying eyes. Her cheeks burned, stung by his hand and by her dignity.

"Move your fuckin' hands," he demanded. When she wouldn't obey, he pried her wrists away, fastening them above her head. Her chest heaved, and her body trembled under his glare. A growl came from his throat as he ripped her away from the wall. "Bitch," Muttering with disdain he eyeballed his bloody knuckles. "Now, look at what you've done!" The situation was going from bad to worse, to unbearable. Robin's glossy eyes found a spot on the basement floor, and she concentrated on it like a dog focusing on the goody in their owner's hand. She shivered as he spit vile words in her ear.

"You're not even worth it. I can't stand you. Why the fuck are you even here?" The words were the straw that broke the camel's back. She wept against his hold. The words zapped her heart. She tried to remember that he was drunk, but the more he spoke, the harder it was for her to believe the lame excuse she fabricated.

Her father sneered, "Pansy. God, you're so weak." Grabbing her neck he pressed hard, cutting the oxygen.

"No! Please no!" Her eyes widened in utter terror and horror. Thrashing her head, she bucked against the wall, trying to find any leverage to shake his grip.

"What would you say if I were to end it? I mean you're no good to the world anyway. Nobody will miss you, nobody will mourn you."

"Please, Father!" Her head clouded with pain as she clawed for a breath. Her fight weakened significantly in those five seconds. Rolling her eyes back, she began falling limp in his hold.

"As much as you're a bitch, and I regret making you, I don't need another murder on my hands. But, I swear to God, if you breathe a word about this to anyone, I will end you. That's a promise, Robin. Got it?" For extra measure, he squeezed her neck once more before completely dropping his hold and shoving her battered body away.

"Agh!" She gasped when her body toppled into the bottom steps. Scooting away, she panted as she dragged herself into the corner. With one final blow with his boot to her ribcage, he stormed up the basement stairs. Robin could barely see, let alone think. Her body was consumed with agony, defeat, and exhaustion. Fighting the urge to hurl, she bit down the bile seizing her stomach, aware that he was leering.

"Dammit girl, it's all your fault! You brought this on yourself! I don't wanna hear any moaning or complaining! All you had to do was lift your fuckin shirt," The rusted brown haired man spat and slammed the door. The sound of the vibration rang unmercifully in her ears making her head throb all over.

Kneeling, Robin held her stomach as it rolled. Her face wrinkled as tears leaked out of her eyes. She couldn't decide what to hold. Her tumbling belly or her pounding skull, each pain taxed onto her list of injuries.

Listening to the thunder of the Patriots and Seahawks game, blaring from the 42" upstairs, helped her none as she closed her lids to block the blistering light swinging from above her. Lying down, she allowed her swollen body to absorb the coolness of the floor. Her lip quivered from the ice pack, a rush of relief eased into her muscles. However, the healing properties did nothing to delete the humiliation and degradation her father caused.

"Robin, are you okay?"

"Hm?" She asked half aware.

Erin repeated, "Are you okay?"

She did not realise she was rocking in her chair until she forced herself to stop. Her eyes shifted to the girl sitting next to her. Unconsciously, she rubbed her padding. "Yeah, I'm alright, Erin. Just thinking is all."

"What about?"

"Ah, nothing you'd be interested in hearing." The poor girl did not need to know something she would not fully understand, so Robin dismissed it as gently as possible.

"Is Daddy mad at me?"

"No, it's okay."

"Is he mad at you?"

"Erin, everyone's fine." Robin sighed, desperate to switch topics. "Do you want anymore mac and cheese?"

"No, thank you." Erin hopped off her chair and placed her plate into the deep sink. "You?"

"Ah, no thanks. I'm full, but thanks for offering." She managed a weak smile. They grew silent.

"I'll wash and you dry?" Erin spoke at last. Robin nodded, appreciative of being tasked to do something that would rid her mind of the previous week.

They listened as the Seahawks's coach explained himself to the reporters. Both of their eyes were attached to Mr Bishop's skull. Neither of them wanted to deal with him that night.

Wielding off boredom, they small talked, but, eventually, they ran out of topics. Sitting in silence, Erin began softly humming that song again. A small smile tugged at Robin's lip.

At least she was occupied. Meanwhile, Robin fought memories of her beating from resurfacing. Every shout from the speakers clawed at her Pandora's box.

A/N: So, we see a new side to Mr Bishop. Maybe he's more like her parents than Robin realised? Maybe not? What's your thought??