Terrifying, but important.
The door slams. My father is home, again, from his nine-to-five. Happy happy joy joy. I’ve locked myself in the basement with a few pretzels, my laptop, and a glass of water. My stomach is sick from anxiety. Tonight cannot be like last night.
Abuse of any kind is not OK. Verbal, emotional, physical, sexual.
Screaming and physically intimidating your daughter until she literally vomits from fear. Encouraging your 6ft, 280 lb alcoholic girlfriend to do the same until your daughter slumps, cornered into the wall, looking up at you with eyes red from crying, gobs of snot dripping down her face, begging you, Please, make it stop, while you watch with a stare that that reeks of sadistic pleasure. Not OK.
His girlfriend, who I will from now on refer to as The Hulk, insulted me with every obscenity she could think of last night. Bitch. Spoiled whore. Piece of…
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