The World Behind Closed Doors - Chapter 3

Grey closed the door to her small bedroom without a sound. There was no telling what mood her father would be in tonight. I followed her to the single bed covered in a bedspread that would've catered for an eight year old girl. The mermaids on it were faded with age and years of washing. Blood stains on it left stories she chose not to remember. Her head fell into the matching pillow, her hair serving as a curtain to protect her from monsters only she knew existed. She wrapped her thin and severely bruised arms around herself.

Something below the room startled her and she sat up straight.
"Bad mood," Grey guessed, her body aching already. She bounded down the stairs, two at a time and found her father in the kitchen, a bottle of Whiskey shattered on the floor.
"Grey, my girl. Help your silly old dad out, won't you?" He spoke with a voice that was calming and sweet. A voice that didn't belong to him.
"Of course, Daddy." She spoke edgily, the smallest thing could set him off in a second and she would know about it. She knelt in the all-too-familiar smelling liquid and started picking up the largest pieced of glass first.
"Do you want to go for ice-cream?" He asked, she could already tell something was up.
"I'd love to." She replied sweetly.

They sat side by side on matching red bar stools. He ordered a beer and a triple scoop from the old woman at the counter. She came back minutes later with both, placing the items infront of them. She lingered a little longer, looking at Grey's bruises and evident scars. I saw curiosity fill the old woman's eyes. I don't believe she meant to stare or study her so closely but all the same I watched Grey become self-conscious. She pulled the oversized jumper over her wrists and the woman left.
"Dad," She started, thinking it be best to ask him now when it seemed like nothing could upset him. He sighed as he finished his beer. Grey knew this wouldn't have been his first today. He was an alcoholic, from the minute he went to sleep to the minute he woke up, drink would be on his mind. With her father it was never "only 10am," but instead "already 10am."
"I want to move schools." She finally managed to choke the words out.