Aloura West | ✓

Chapter Three

The sun seeped through the broken blinds, startling Aloura. She shot out of bed and scanned her surroundings, when she was certain her father wasn't in the room with her, she relaxed back onto the bed, sighing in relief. Her mornings always consisted of a startled wake, followed by a few seconds of paralysing fear, before she'd scan the room for her father. Out of the many years spent living like this, Aloura had only located her father in her room twice.

The first time, he was innocently checking on his daughter. The guilt of the beating he'd given her the night before had left him pacing the entire morning. He'd entered her room in hopes of apologising, but one sight of his sleeping daughter and he lost track of time. Images of her at peace still linger in his mind, and the panic he witnessed his daughter go through as she spotted him by the doorway made his heart break a little more. So, when she left that day for school, he promised to change his ways. He'd cleaned the house, and even poured down the remaining alcohol down the sink- something he came to regret barely hours later. As the images of his dead wife, and flinching daughter made his hands itch for a drink. A means to forget, and so he gave in.

The second time, he had started drinking before lunch- which was unusual. His anger seemed to strengthen as he realised he was grieving in the living room alone, whilst his daughter slept the day away. He'd marched to her room, and flung the door open before making his way over her. Aloura didn't have to search the room for her father's presence that day, his hands were enough of an indicator.

"You don't love her" he growled, throwing the covers off the shivering, sick girl.

Aloura sat up gasping, her hands clutching her head. She flinched back into the corner of the bed as soon as she noticed her father's presence. Her bolting up awake had caused her head to spin, and the lack of Aloura's denial of his accusation burned Michael within. "I fucking knew it." He snarled, grabbing her harshly by the arm. "You never fucking loved her."

"Loved who dad" Aloura cried, placing her small hands over her fathers in hopes of loosening his painful grip.

"You forgot about her already'' he spat, pushing Aloura forcefully away from him. "She would be ashamed to call you her daughter."

After that day, Aloura's body seemed to have timed itself, waking her up every night after a couple of hours. Forcing her to look around her fearfully for her father's presence.

After Aloura had slipped on her work uniform, she made her way down the staircase. She placed her earphones in the hem of her trousers, too scared to have them in sight of her dad. He would definitely rip them apart, and Aloura could never afford to replace them immediately. She made her way into the kitchen for a glass of water. Although her last meal was lunch from the previous day, Aloura found herself rather starving than her father hungry. She didn't know whether it was because she still loved him or feared him. The beatings would definitely be worse if he's already in a bad mood from hunger.

Aloura didn't expect to find her father already awake, situated on the kitchen table, his head resting between his hands. Droplets of tears falling from his eyes and onto the newly cleaned countertop. Aloura halted her steps at the door, allowing her eyes to soak up the view before her. Her father had always gone through bi-polar moods of swearing to change, but Aloura had not seen him cry over something that was not her mother.

"Sir?" she asked softly making her way towards him. She cringed at the name, out of all the rules, she hated that one the most. "Are you-'' she hesitated a little before swallowing her fear, "are you okay?"

Michael's head snapped up; he hadn't heard her daughter walk in. He quickly stood up and pushed the chair behind him. At the loud sudden noise and her father's abrupt movement, Aloura let out a shriek and stepped back. The chair fell back and as it echo of its impact on the floor died down, silence welcomed them. Aloura stared at her father's feet, calculating his movements, just in case.