CHAPTER 10

(Emery's POV)

After the enchanting day I'd spent with Ezra, I couldn't wait to share my happiness with someone. But as I rushed home, a heavy weight settled in my chest, and a cloud of dread loomed over me. The familiar stench of alcohol permeated the air, a haunting reminder of my father's frequent drunken bouts.

I stepped inside the house, my heart pounding with anxiety. The moment our eyes met, I could tell that my dad was deep into another drunken stupor. His bleary, bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, and I knew I was in danger. The man who was supposed to be my protector had become my greatest source of terror.

Inebriated and unpredictable, my dad lurched toward me with unsteady steps, his gaze ominous and filled with anger. Panic surged through me, and I knew I had to escape. There was no room for hesitation.

I bolted up the stairs, my father's heavy footsteps echoing behind me. Fear gave me speed, and as I reached my room, I slammed the door shut and locked it, adrenaline coursing through my veins. But I knew that a locked door wouldn't deter my dad's rage.

On the other side of the door, he pounded it with furious fists, hurling threats and profanities. The sound sent shivers down my spine, but I couldn't let fear paralyze me. I had to find a way to keep him out.

Scanning my room for anything that could serve as a barricade, my eyes settled on the tall wooden wardrobe a few feet away from the door. Time seemed to slow as my racing mind devised a plan. With an adrenaline-fueled burst of strength, I pushed the heavy furniture in front of the door, blocking it entirely.

"Emery," he bellowed, his voice filled with anger and incoherence, "open this damn door!"

I huddled on my bed, clutching my blankets as if they could shield me from his wrath. "Dad, please, you're not well," I pleaded, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Just go to bed, and we can talk in the morning."

But reason was a foreign concept to him in his current state. "You think you can defy me?" he roared, pounding the door with his fists. "You're just like your mother, a weakling who abandoned me!"

My mother's memory was a sore point for him, and he used it as a weapon against me whenever he could. "Dad, I'm not abandoning you," I sobbed, my voice trembling. "I just need you to calm down."

He seemed to lose interest in our exchange as quickly as he had started it. Mumbling incoherently, he stumbled away from my door and back down the hallway, leaving me trembling and afraid but temporarily safe.

My dad's shouting intensified, his anger palpable through the door, but I had created a temporary barrier that would keep him out. I knew it wouldn't hold forever, but it bought me some time.

Stepping away from the door, my chest heaving from exertion and fear, I knew that this was far from a long-term solution. The minutes felt like hours as I listened to my father's tirade gradually subside. Eventually, the front door of the house opened and slammed shut, signaling his departure, at least for now.

Exhaustion washed over me as the adrenaline wore off. I collapsed onto my bed, feeling the weight of the day's emotional stress and the harrowing encounter with my father. Within moments, I drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, seeking refuge from the horrors of my reality.