I walked home from school and into the house. Dad was on the couch wasted and mother was recovering from a kick. I sighed and put a blanket on my dad. I still loved my dad. I loved him so much that I pleaded for my mom to bail him out of jail a few years ago.

I loved him so much it hurt! I went upstairs and sat on my old bed. I pulled out my homework and worked on it until my door opened. It was dad and I froze. He drunkenly slid over to me and said, "Worthless." And that was when his hand swung down on my face forcing so much power on my 9 year old self and flinging me off the bed.

I wanted so badly to let out a cry of pain for my stinging cheek but I held it in, just hoping for the pain to stop. I was alright with the physical pain but just watching your own father hit you and say your worthless is the heartbreaking thing for me.

I wanted so badly for him to love me, appreciate me, just treat my like a civilized person. He stumbled out of the room and I let the tears fall silently.

When I got to school the next day the teachers kept pressuring me about the red hand mark on my cheek but I ignored their questions. Azera kept glancing worriedly at me and
so did the rest of the class. I just continued working on a fraction problem.

At lunch I realized I didn't have enough money to buy anything again so I just took my book and sat down at a table. Azera sat down next to me and handed me an apple. "I saw the defeated look on your face and I knew that you didn't have money." I smiled gratefully at her and ate it, knowing it would be the biggest meal I will this week.