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Sunday is the worse. Yes, they do go out for a couple hours, but here is an example of a typical Sunday.

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“Lindsay, we are going to be late.”

“Coming.” And no they will not be late. They will be on time. But you see, coming in on time is unacceptable to them. They have to be early so they get their extra socialization. I grabbed my car keys and walked outside without a word. They followed me out. I drove in silence to the outing of the week.

Next comes like 4 hours of peace and quiet. Four hours that I can either spend alone, or hanging out with my sister. Like I have mentioned, I absolutely adore my sister. Sometimes I feel like the only thing that they did right was give me a little sister.

On this particular Sunday, I choose to spend the free time away from my parents with my sister.

“Hey Bri, you want to go to a movie or something?”

“Yeah sure. But what about Mom and Dad?”

“What about them? If we go to a movie then we’ll be back before they even think about coming home. And if we don’t go to a movie and we do something else then we’ll just make sure we are home before the four hour mark.”

“Ok. We can go to a movie.”

Like a nice big sister, I let her pick the movie. Even though I knew she would pick a movie I had no desire to see.

And I was right. She absolutely loved her choice of movie and I absolutely hated it.

Well, the movie was slightly longer than I originally thought it would be so I was slightly late in picking up mom and dad. Since I was late, I took Brianna with me to pick them up. The car ride home was quiet. The only sound I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. The silence signified that my father was mad. And that thought alone was terrifying.

We got back to the house and Brianna and I started dinner. I served them their normal glasses of alcohol and answered to their every request for seconds on the food and refills on their drinks.

My father’s refills were getting more and more frequent. I was half tempted to not serve it but I knew that if I didn’t the outcome later would be a lot worse. It wouldn’t have mattered because if I hadn’t served him he would have gotten it himself and that would have made him even madder.

Later that night, I was sitting in my room after cleaning up the initial mess made by my drunken parents. I was getting my books ready for school the next day when my door flew open and my father barged into the room. Alcohol bottle in one hand and a face as red as blood from the anger. He looked at me and screamed. “You worthless bitch. You were late.” He threw the bottle and it crashed to pieces right by my head. My breathing increased as he advanced forward. “You were late. Why were you late?” I could barely understand him through his slurred speech and anger but I knew what the question was.

“I went to a movie with Bri and the movie ran over. I didn’t mean it.”

“You lying bitch. Tell me the truth.”

He advanced quickly. He was now standing in front of me. “I am telling you the truth.” I was enveloped in fear as I watched his arm rise. I felt the stinging on my cheek when his hand connected.

He didn’t stop there. He kicked, punched and screamed obscenities at me. And when he was done, he stalked out of the room to find his next victim.

I slowly climbed onto my bed and started crying. I heard screaming coming from the room next to me. I was crying for my pain and for the pain in knowing I can’t help my sister, my dad’s current victim. I lulled myself to sleep by crying and by the sounds of my sister’s ear piercing screams and the sound of my father’s angry voice.