??Dad is at the door, his arms folded, glaring at me. With a shaky breath, I turn to the bathroom. Mum is at the door, her eyes cast down, unable to look me in the eye.
“When did you wake up?” Dad questions.
“Not long ago,” I lie.
Dad’s eyes narrow. “Noya, you’re a horrible liar.” He takes a step forward, and my breath hitches. “You know what, Lilly? Noya is sick today. I don’t think she will attend school after all.”
I move. Stepping back into my room, I swing the door shut when a hand comes into focus. I slam the door using both hands, jamming his fingers. Dad cries out, and when I loosen the pressure, he slides his hand out. I shut and lock the door.
No stopping.
Keep moving.
Keep going.
Keep pushing.
I step on my bed, look at the fan, jump up, and grab the blade. As I reach the centre, it bends, and I twist it until it pops.
The door trembles as Dad repeatedly slams into it. I hear the snapping of the wood as it splinters around the hinges.
I tear the phone out of the box, flick through contacts and tap the call button—my breath hitches, accelerating with every moment, with every ring. The door bends, and Dad’s livid, frothing words haunt me, making me uncontrollably shake while Mum sobs.
The screws rattle, twisting away from the frame.
“Noya?” a voice answers.
“Mrs Jones, can you please call the ambulance?” I cry. “I don’t have time to call them. Dad’s breaking down my door, and I’m scared.” Tears slip down my face, and my breath hitches as I struggle to breathe. “Please, I don’t want to die.”
“O-okay, Milo! Call the fucking police, ambulance, fire-fucking department now! Stay on the phone with me, Noya. Okay. He’s calling—Conner, where are you going?!”
The door tears from the hinges.
I put my phone in my pocket, hiding it from view. Dad towers at the exit, hands on either side. His eyes bulge out of their sockets, his face burns red, and froth foams at the corners of his mouth. He launches at me. My insides turn to jelly, but my legs still move. I step onto the bed, jump off behind him and race to the door when I feel the strands of hair pulling me back. I cry out as I stumble away from the door. Twisting around, gritting my teeth, I push my fingers into his eye sockets, gouging them out, uncaring how deep I go as he wails and screams. Then, I knee Dad between the legs not once, not twice, but three times. His hold on my hair releases, and he drops, cradling between his legs while I race to the exit.
I grip the lock, twist it until I hear it click and burst outside into the sunlight.
Into my freedom…
But that’s not reality, is it?
I blink back into the room and see Dad launching at me.
I turn towards the bed, but he’s faster and brawnier. He grabs me by the hair, and I feel strands break away from my scalp. A surge of pain swells in the pit of my stomach, my mouth widens, and my eyes bulge when Dad’s fist slams into my stomach. Then he shoves me out the door. I land on my hands and knees. My legs buckle, and my arms tremble. The pain throbs, and it takes all ounces of my strength not to cower and cradle where it hurts.
I roll onto my back and whimper when Dad stands over me. I kick while shuffling away, but he grabs my leg, dragging me towards him, and sits on top of me within one movement. I cry out, screaming for anyone to hear, when his hands wrap around my throat, and he squeezes. “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep!” he barks.
My legs lash out underneath him, and my hands scratch at the arms that grip around my throat. My chest rises and falls in short, panicked bursts, struggling to breathe. Dark blotches swell in the corner of my vision, and saliva dribbles out of my mouth.
“Stop it!” Mum wails, coming into focus. She grabs his hand that’s around my throat and tries to pull it away from me. “You’re killing her, John!”
“Fuck off,” Dad snaps. He releases one of his hands and whips Mum across the face, knocking her backwards.
I suck in a deep breath, enough to muster out one single, desperate sentence. “Daddy, please!” I sob.
Dad’s eyes widen, and his hands relax in the slightest. Gritting my teeth, I lift myself, and my fingers claw at his eye, hooking in and feeling the slime on my fingers. Dad hollers and falls off me, his hand covering his wounded eye.
I roll over, press my hands into the ground, and stand. My legs move as I aim for the door. I take another step towards my freedom when my leg stops moving, kicking up from underneath me. I fall forward, and my face collides with the tiles without anything breaking its fall. I hear a snap, and blood spurts from my nose, soaking into the white tiles.