Fear of Falling

yellowed teeth.
    He was me, and I was him. Features so alike that there was no denying that he was my father, and I was his daughter. Features that made my mother hate me because I was the living, breathing reminder of the man that killed her.
    “Now that I have your attention, you little cunt, time for you to give me what I want,” he growled.
    I could hear the words but I didn’t understand. I didn’t get what he wanted from me. Hadn’t he done enough?
    You answer Daddy when he speaks to you. Don’t hesitate. Daddy doesn’t like it when you do that.
    “I don’t know what you want,” I croaked, around my swollen tongue. My lips felt foreign. Puffy, like the rest of my jaw, the way they did when pumped full of Novocain from the dentist. But I wasn’t numb. No. I felt everything. I writhed in overwhelming pain.
    My father knelt in front of me. “Don’t play dumb with me!” he spewed, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my face close to his. I took in his crazed features, trying to focus my senses. He was obviously older, and the years had not been kind to him. Drugs and alcohol had corroded his once dashing face, leaving his jaundiced skin marred with pockmarks and scars. Some of his teeth were missing, and the ones that were left were yellow or rotten. His brown, once full, shiny hair was thin and matted. And his eyes—eyes that once shone brightly whenever he picked up a guitar, eyes that had occasionally exuded kindness and love, eyes that looked exactly like mine—were dead and cold. Lifeless.
    My father was dead inside. He was gone, just like my mother. He had taken their lives in a murder-suicide a long time ago. I had been an orphan all this time; I just hadn’t realized it.
    “Please,” I begged, my voice no more than a strangled whisper. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’ll give you anything. Anything! Just please don’t hurt me.”
    He shoved me back, releasing the tight grip on my hair before breaking into a full-belly guffaw. “You stupid little bitch. My money! You will give me my money! Where is it? I want it now! Give it to me! Now!”
    I winced. Not from the stinging in my scalp. Not from the oozing gash on my forehead that was dripping blood down the side of my face. Not even from the cuts inside my mouth that made it painful to talk. It was him . Seeing him so crazed and delusional. So desperate and out of control.
    I hated this man. Hated him with everything inside me, yet, I couldn’t help but hurt for him. He was a broken boy once. His father did to him what he had done to me. What he was doing to me now.
    This man was once my father. No matter how much I despised him, he was half of me. But the man before me right now was a stranger. A cracked-out, sickening stranger that I had never seen before.
    “I’ll give it to you, I swear! But I don’t have it here. It’s at the bank. If you let me go, I’ll get it for you. I promise. Just let me go, and I’ll get it all!”
    Fury washed over his ugly face, and he bared his decayed teeth, taking a step towards me. “No. I want it now!”
    I scurried back, colliding with the couch. My hands searched for something – anything—that I could use as a weapon, but the closest lamp was feet away. I whimpered in desperate resignation. “I can’t get it to you now! I have to get it from the bank!”
    “Well, if I can’t have it now, then I’ll take something else.”
    His hand went for his belt buckle, and I felt a brand of terror that I couldn’t even imagine. It was the kind of inconceivable fear that spawned nightmares. Reprehensible dread that forever ruined you. Murdered your spirit. Slaughtered your soul.
    My stomach roiled violently, causing the taste of bile to invade my mouth. Cold sweat blanketed my skin, mixing with the blood that ran from my face. Tremors assaulted every inch of my body, and my senses were overwhelmed with panic.
    No. Please don’t. Please don’t do this.
    I wanted to say the words. Wanted to beg him to spare me, but fear had seized my vocal chords. It had stolen my breath as well as my sanity. I had to be hallucinating. This couldn’t be happening. No. I refused to believe this was real.
    “You’re a little slut, aren’t you? A little slut that opens her legs for any guy. Well, now it’s time to open your legs and that nasty little mouth for Daddy.”
    “No!” The word ripped from my throat in a sob. “NoNoNo!”
    “You’ve been a very bad girl, Kamilla. A whore, just