Natasha's POV
As we arrived home, I parked the car and we both stepped out in silence. My dad wordlessly made his way inside, leaving me to follow behind. As I entered the house, I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly lunchtime. Without hesitation, I headed straight for the kitchen, my mind already set on preparing a meal for us.
Recalling that I had prepped some ingredients before leaving for the hospital, I swiftly gathered them from the fridge and pantry. The familiar routine of cooking provided a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty that lingered in the air.
With focused determination, I set about chopping vegetables, heating up pots and pans, and orchestrating the symphony of flavors that would soon fill the kitchen. The rhythmic sounds of cooking served as a soothing melody, a welcome distraction from the weight of the day's events.
As the aroma of home-cooked food began to waft through the air, I couldn't help but hope that the simple act of sharing a meal together would offer a moment of solace for my dad and me, a fleeting respite from the challenges we faced.
After another silent breakfast, my dad left, leaving me to focus on household chores. I tackled them methodically, finding solace in productivity amidst the lingering silence. Each completed task brought a sense of accomplishment, a small victory amid the challenges we faced. And so, I continued on, finding strength in the routine of everyday life.
Time skip to evening
As the evening settled in around 7:30, I was engrossed in preparing study notes when a knock on my bedroom door interrupted my focus. Opening the door, I found my dad standing there, his expression unreadable as he gave me a cold stare.
"I need to talk," he stated tersely.
"Yes, dad, what is it about?" I responded, concern creeping into my voice.
He walked into the room and sat down on the bed, gesturing for me to join him with a look that brooked no argument. Sensing the gravity of the situation, I took a seat beside him, bracing myself for the conversation that lay ahead.
As my dad began to speak, his words cut through the air with a cold finality.
"I've fixed your marriage," he declared, his tone devoid of any warmth or empathy, as if he had made the decision without any regard for my feelings.
My eyes widened in shock, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to comprehend his words. Rising to my feet, I stared at him incredulously.
"I'm too young, Dad," I protested, the words tumbling out in disbelief.
"I don't care if you are young or old," he retorted sharply, his tone brooking no argument. "You have to get married, and that's final. No more arguments."
Desperation surged within me as I pleaded with him, my voice tinged with fear and uncertainty.
"Please, Papa, I don't want to. Please, I don't want to," I begged, my words falling on deaf ears as he glared at me angrily, his jaw clenched in frustration.
"You are saying no to me?" His voice, low and tinged with anger, sent a shiver down my spine, signaling that something was about to go terribly wrong.
Feeling my breath grow heavy, I instinctively took a step back, trying to steady myself as his intense glare bore into me. With every ounce of courage I could muster, I met his gaze, my own eyes betraying a mix of fear and defiance.
As he unbuckled his belt and took it out, wrapping it around his hand like a whip, my heart sank, and a sense of dread washed over me. His glare bore into me with an intensity that sent chills down my spine.
"You've gone without punishment for so long that you've forgotten to respect your father, huh?" he seethed, his words laced with venom as he advanced towards me.
As I took a step back, my body trembling uncontrollably, I could feel the weight of his anger bearing down on me like a heavy burden.
"P-papa, please... forgive me... please?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper, my plea tinged with desperation. "I-I won't do this again, I promise."
Each word was choked out through the fear that gripped me, the desperation to appease him palpable in my trembling voice.
As he pushed me harshly, I stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor with a thud. The force of his action sent shockwaves of pain coursing through me, but it was nothing compared to the terror that gripped my heart.
I watched in horror as he jerked the belt, causing it to snap loudly against the floor with a menacing crack. The sound echoed through the room, reverberating in my ears and sending a jolt of fear coursing through my trembling body.
Each snap of the belt seemed to punctuate his anger, and with each one, I flinched, the sound searing into my consciousness like a cruel reminder of my helplessness. The overwhelming sense of dread threatened to consume me as I lay there, trembling and paralyzed by fear.
"P-papa... please don't h-hit me... p-please," I sobbed uncontrollably, my voice trembling with fear.
"You are saying no to ME!? HUH!?" he shouted angrily. "You'll be punished HARD!"
With a swift motion, he raised his hand and struck me with the belt, the force of the blow causing me to scream out in pain and recoil, tears streaming down my face.
He gripped my hair tightly, pushing me back and cursing me. "You are worthless," he spat, delivering a harsh slap to my cheek.
His bitter words cut deep, and I could only cry harder, my hand trembling as I gently touched my throbbing cheek, feeling the sting of his anger.
He continued to abuse me, striking me relentlessly as if I were nothing more than an animal. Each blow sent waves of pain coursing through my body, but all I could do was cry, my tears a silent plea for it to stop.
Despite the agony, I couldn't bring myself to resist. I knew that any attempt to intervene would only escalate the violence further, something I couldn't bear to imagine.
Yes, it's true, I loved him. Despite the pain he inflicted, he was still my father. I clung to the hope that he would recover from whatever demons plagued his mind, that he would return to being the loving and caring man he once was.
His love for me was evident, but it was overshadowed by the darkness of his mental state. It was a harrowing realization, one that plunged me into the depths of despair, yet I clung to the belief that someday, somehow, things would get better.
As he finally left, his words echoing in the silence, I lay on the ground, feeling utterly alone and broken. Tears continued to flow unchecked as the pain radiated through my body.
Summoning all the strength I could muster, I forced myself to sit up, my legs trembling beneath me. With slow, unsteady movements, I made my way to the bed, each step a reminder of the agony I endured.
Reaching for the drawer beside the bed, I retrieved the ointment, my hands shaking as I applied it to my wounds. The cool relief it offered was a stark contrast to the searing pain that still lingered, but it provided a small measure of comfort amidst the turmoil.
As I tended to my injuries, tears silently streaming down my cheeks, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my isolation. But even in the depths of despair, I clung to a sliver of hope, praying for a day when the darkness would lift and I could find solace once more.
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