Daddy's Little Girl

Daddy’s Little Girl

Daddy was later home than usual that night. Although I was too young to tell the time I knew because I would count down in my head the hours he was gone. I would pray to the angels every night after he left, willing him to stay away for ages. When that didn’t work, I would instead pray that I would become invisible and maybe for a whole three minutes I would be able to kid myself it had worked. Until he broke me a little bit more, making up for absent kisses with bruises. I never understood the things I did so wrong when I tried so hard to please him. I only ever wanted to be daddy’s little girl.

Peaceful sleep was rare for me. Although I felt relieved in those moments he left me alone, I was never able to drift off. I had always been scared of the dark, never knowing what was lurking in the shadows. Daddy knew. He said the dark preyed on your mind, reminding you of the things you only ever want to forget. There was a time he would leave me a bedside lamp on, back then. When thing’s were different. Now he used it against me, just another way to inject fear in my mind. Every night he unscrewed the bulb in the corner, cutting of my light and leaving me in darkness. Leaving me drowning in black terror.

Those unusual exceptions where sleep was possible, I found my dreams haunted by the devil in the figure of my father. He told me I should have been killed at birth. His hot breath would suffocate me, his hands advancing, reaching out. It seemed I could not escape him, even in dreams. I would lie awake, sobbing in fright, longing that one day, my daddy would come back to me. The daddy I remember who loved me and cuddled me, sitting me on his lap while reading me stories.

Some things I knew, were too good to be true. For me, daddy would never be daddy again.

I heard him before he even slammed the front door. He was singing loudly, his deep voice slurred as he swerved drunkenly along the pathway. He staggered into the living room where I watched anxiously from the sofa, waiting patiently for him to put more bruises on my poor defencless body.
It wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time my life was like a fairy story. I was daddy’s little princess, or so he said. Then everything changed. It happened over a year ago when we were playing by the swings in the park. Nobody noticed little Jericho was gone until we heard the screech of wheels. Until we looked around and he wasn’t there. Until it was too late. Jericho died that day. My little brother died. Part of daddy died too.