In Father's Hands

Published: Wednesday, 14 March 2012 Written by Bernelle Titre



Amber staggered backward from the force of the slap. Her head spun and she rubbed the sore spot on her cheek. He approached her again and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her forcefully into the wall. She felt drained and allowed herself to slide down to the floor, blood pouring from her swollen, open mouth and pooling at her feet; the result of his many blows. She sobbed and gingerly covered her face with her hands, acutely aware of the mind-numbing pain. At the sound of her relentless crying, he started toward her, knelt next to her and examined her face. He pulled her roughly to his chest, unintentionally hurting her. Again.

“I'm sorry baby,” she heard him say, his tone deceptively soft and caring. “You just make me so angry sometimes and I have to hit you; only to teach you a lesson. I love you, that's why I do it; because I love and I have to correct you. Don't you understand that it hurts me too?” he said in a pained, yet bitter voice.

Amber only cried harder at his words. She cried for herself, for him, for all that they had lost and gained and for their unborn baby which he knew nothing about; and she intended to keep it that way. Was this really love? Did he love her? Did she love him anymore, after all what he had done?

She moved out of his embrace and got off of the floor. On unsteady feet, she made her way to the door. “I'm not coming back this time, Johnny,” she said solemnly, gripping the doorknob for support, in fear that she might topple at any minute. She was determined to get away from him and to give it a better life than she had had. Or she would die trying.


Suddenly, a sharp pain in her scalp pulled her out of her reverie. Johnny yanked her away from the open door by her thick, black curls and punched her in the face. Hard. More blood spewed from her facial wounds, staining the carpet of the dingy apartment. He shoved her face first into the glass coffee table, smashing it. Her stomach hit the edge of the table with a soft thud, that echoed in Amber's ears as pain shot from her stomach and coursed through her body. The shards pierced her flesh and she released involuntary whispers at the severity of the pain. The whimpers soon became loud, heart-wrenching sobs as she noticed blood seeping from the crotch of her jeans. She wept again; for herself, for him and for the baby that she had just lost, to its own father's hands.

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