7

"What are you looking at?" he slurred drunkenly, standing over the girl with his fists clenched. As if she'd been burnt she quickly stopped looking up at him and stared down into her knees, curled into the foetal position.
"You know it's your fault, don't you?" he asked, kneeling down to bring his face close to hers. His breath stank of alcohol and regret. "If it weren't for you, we'd still be fine. She'd still be here. Instead I'm stuck with you in this shit hole." He lifted an arm without looking back, indicating the one bed flat where they lived.
She didn't move. She knew there was nothing good or helpful she could say now, and that if she curled up it wouldn't hurt as much when he started hitting her. So she stayed tight in a ball, burying her face into her knees. She wished she'd remembered to tie her long hair back, she'd probably lose a few clumps and then they'd make fun of her at school.
He stood up, reached for the bottle on the kitchen table. It was mostly finished. "And I sit here like an idiot, paying for your food, paying for the roof over your head, just to get this ungrateful little bitch," he said his voice aggrieved and pained, and she knew he was winding himself up to hurt her. "I suffer all my life finding work, trying to do right, and all I get is this?"
She was expecting the blow but it still winded her when it came, striking at the base of her ribs, forcing her onto her side. He was wearing the steel toe cap boots. That wouldn't help. He grabbed her by her hair, entangling his fingers in the end and yanking suddenly and hard, and she felt the clump rip from her scalp as she was pulled sideways towards him. Her face was exposed and he punched her hard in the cheekbone, dazing her. That was a surprise. Much as he knew no-one would do anything he didn't normally go for anywhere visible, so everyone would think he was still a doting father, so good for taking the orphan in after her mother died.
It was when the second and third blows came to her face that she realised, too slowly, that this time was different. She wasn't going to be allowed to leave. That this might be the last thing she ever saw. For a moment she considered relaxing to let it happen, but a rebel part of her soul rejected that idea even as it arrived.
She came to her feet and twisted away from his grasp, wincing as the movement tore out more hair. He gave a surprised and outraged shout, she never normally did anything but wait for the blows to stop, but she didn't stop moving. He'd locked the front door on his way in but the bathroom window was open, and she flew into the room. His bullish frame was following, staggering but frighteningly quick. She slammed the door even as he crashed into it and tremblingly managed to turn the lock until it slid into place with a satisfying heft that meant safety. He roared outside and the door shook as he kicked it. She turned to the window; it was small but so was she. There was a 10 foot drop outside. She wasn't wearing shoes or a coat.
The room shook and she heard a hideous cracking as the door buckled. Without another thought she climbed up and out the window. She wouldn't be back in his lifetime.