Excerpt: The Author's Daughter

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING EXCERPT CONTAINS GRAPHIC IMAGES AND LANGUAGE... MOSTLY GRAPHIC LANGUAGE.

One.
Two.
Three.
…Shit.

Makayla sighed as she saw her dad’s truck sitting in the drive way of their not-so-modern home. Her father had grown up in the house and he had gotten it when his parents died. He had spent his whole life in this little town, living his little life, and he was completely content with it. Makayla, on the other hand, was not so fond of the life they lived. But she didn’t mind it either.

She slowed down as her feet hit the drive way, hesitant to go inside. She knew he would be waiting inside for her with a stern voice that would break into a shout at any given moment. Makayla expected to hear her name the moment she opened the screen door but there wasn’t a sound. She walked in as calmly as she could.

When you opened the screen door it opened into the living room and part of the kitchen. An arch way that covered more than two walls opened up into their plain kitchen, but you had to turn towards your left to go into it. Otherwise you would end up in their living room. Just before the living room there was a hallway that leads down to the two bedrooms and one bathroom.

She walked passed the kitchen and went to go back into her room. Her eyes glanced into the kitchen to see if her father was waiting for her at the table but he wasn’t. Makayla panicked and paused for a moment to scan the whole kitchen. Then she saw where he was – the refrigerator door was open and she saw one of his hands peeking over the door. As soon as she realized he was home she quickened her step as she went to go back to her room.

“Makayla.”

His voice was deep and stern, the sound making Makayla stop in her tracks. Her guitar slid down to her side and she contemplated turning around to look at him. After a moment she let out the breath that she had been subconsciously holding and spoke.

“Yeah, Johnny?” She said as she tried to keep her voice from cracking. Makayla and her father had a very distant relationship. They called each other by their names and nothing else. Not silly nicknames, not father or daughter; nothing but their names. It had always been this way, ever sense she had to go live with him. Once when she was six she tried to call him daddy but all he said was, “My name is Johnny, Makayla.”

“You’re…” Johnny paused as he stood up straight, grasping the refrigerator door so he wouldn’t fall back on his ass. Makayla winched as she heard the refrigerator shake as it tried to hold her father’s weight. She turned around to look at him. “…Late. You… are… late,” He finished as he pulled himself back up and looked over towards her.

“Are you drunk?” Makayla hissed as she put down her guitar near the hallway entrance and went to go help him sit down somewhere. He looked at her and made a sound that was between a growling and a hiccup; Makayla couldn’t decide which it sounded more like. After he made this particular sound he began to fall backwards slightly, again, but this time instead of grabbing the refrigerator for support he pushed the door closed and ran into the closest counter.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Johnny asked, grunting as he steadied himself up against the counter properly. He took a swig of whatever was left in the bottle he held in his hand and then whipped his lips off with the back of his hand. Makayla paused near the refrigerator, balling her hands into a fist defensively. When Makayla didn’t reply Johnny became angry, his face turning red.

“Did you hear me girl?!” He repeated as he raised his hand up and brought it down. The bottle hit the counter and broke slightly on one corner, a piece falling and shattering into many little pieces. The two looked at it for a moment, watching each piece bounce against the fading-white tile before it came to a rest. Then Johnny looked up to Makayla again.

“Look what you made me do!” He said gurgling what she assumed was spit and alcohol. He looked demented and cruel – he always did when he was drunk – but tonight he seemed especially upset. Makayla figured something went wrong at work and now he felt the need to take it out on her. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come home drunk and angry but normally he was docile and out of his head, so to speak. Makayla wanted to yell at him, and tell him she didn’t do anything. But she knew better than that. Makayla was rebellious, and crazy, but she definitely was far from stupid.

“Look! Look! Do you see what you made me do?!” Johnny asked as he stumbled forward, burping. He grunted as he looked at Makayla, seeing her straight and unhappy face. He didn’t like how she was looking at him and he didn’t like how she wasn’t talking to him. It made him angrier and before he knew it he tossed the bottle towards her. Makayla barely had a chance to react because it was extremely unexpected.

She felt herself falling backwards in an attempt to move out of the way of the bottle but it still found her and hit her arm and then broke against the floor where the tile met the carpet in the living room. Small shards of the glass flew at her exposed arms and legs but she didn’t feel any of it. All the pain was focused on the cut on her left upper arm. The cut wasn’t too deep but it was wide and there was a steady flow of blood pouring from it down her arm.

When the bottle had hit her arm she yelled but she didn’t eve know what had happened yet. Once she had caught herself she looked over to her arm as the burning feeling over whelmed her only to be shocked by the sight. She knew the bottle had hit her but she hadn’t expected more than a bruise or something less painful.

“Fuck! Why the fuck did you do that?!” Makayla screamed at Johnny, looking at him as she grabbed her arm and pulled it close to her before letting go to steady herself to her feet. Johnny stood there, watching here in a daze. He acted as if he had no idea what was going on, which he probably didn’t have any idea what was going on, and said nothing to her as she screamed her filthy words at him.

“You’re such a fucking cunt! What the fuck did I ever do to you Johnny?! You know what? Fuck you!” As she screamed this she made her way through the living room and towards the hallway. She paused to pick up her guitar with her right hand, trying not to get blood on it. She made no attempt at stopping the blood that was dripping off her left arm as she scurried away from her father. Before she went down the hallway, she left him with a few more words to mull over, “Seriously, go fuck yourself!”

Johnny stood there in complete oblivion to what he had just witnessed. Slowly he fell back, his whole weight falling against the counter behind him. He felt his whole body beginning to let go, beginning to loose any strength and will power he had left. As he slipped he put his rough, mechanic’s hands against the counter to prop himself up but this tactic only lasted for a few moments as he began to slip down again, regardless of where his hands were.