Seeking Sanctuary

It's cold. Standing here on this cold, wet night while the bitter raindrops penetrate my skin, I stare at this home. From the outside looking in, it looks nice and warm. Something you would see in a magazine with the window lit up with candles, pictured against this cold frame of the night. How could something that looks so warm and welcoming be so broken?

As I stand here, drenched with my clothes clinging to every crevice of my body, I begin to run in hopes of finding a sanctuary other than my home. How can one bear to sit by and watch as their loved ones deal with the wrath of their drunken father? Is this what life is about? Is there nothing more? As these questions race through my mind, I realize that I need to go back. When that bitter reality sunk in, my stomach turned. My chest started to tighten as I dropped on my knees, scraping them on the cold, wet concrete. I begin to sob. How am I supposed to go back to this hell that we call home?

As I try to build the courage to head back, I can't move. My feet feel as if they are stuck in quick drying cement and I am ankle deep. I am frozen. I can't seem to shake these nerves but I know that I have no other choice. I take a deep breath and start walking back. Did he notice that I ran out? Was he done treating my sister as a punching bag? Ugh, just the thought of that in itself tears me apart. How can a man who is supposed to love us hate us so much? I wish I could just build up the courage to stand up to him, but I didn't stand a chance.

I finally reach the front door and with frantically shaking hands, I open it and walk in. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt like our neighbors could hear it. It almost hurt. As I closed the big white door behind me, he was standing right there. My knees almost give out. The man standing before me was supposed to be my Father, however, that is not what I saw. The anger in his eyes seemed not of this world. To be quite frank, it was terrifying.

As I stand there for a moment staring at him, I realize how big of a man he really is. He was wearing a red t-shirt with the sleeves torn off with blue jeans with a hole in the knee. His hair was short and messy with his silver frame glasses and he was standing there with his chest pumped up, shoulders broad and taking deep breaths, almost as if he was panting. It was obvious that he has a lot of strength behind his big, masculine arms. How does he even find it fair to attack his young, innocent daughters when he is so big?

Before I could even think anymore, he yelled "Where the hell have you been?!" My hands begin to tremble. I upset him now. Am I going to be his next victim of the night? I quickly responded "I ran outside to play in the rain, Daddy. I love to play in the rain." He just stared at me for a few moments, assuming he was deciding on how to deal with me. It felt like an eternity, not knowing what was going to happen next made me feel ill. Finally he yelled at me to get my ass to my room and I ran up those stairs in a blink of an eye before he changed his mind on how he wanted to deal with me.