AMORA'S POV;
"Amora!!!" The voice reverberated throughout the house, an imposing sound infused with a sense of dire urgency that sent shivers down my spine. "Open this damn door before I break it down!" A wave of panic washed over me as the weight of the situation settled in my mind. The implications of defying him were chilling, and the thought of the potential consequences sent my heart racing uncontrollably. He was no stranger to violence, capable of things that were far too dark and horrific for me to imagine, and that fear tightened its grip around my throat. In a whisper barely loud enough to escape my lips, I uttered a desperate plea directed towards my mother, the tremor in my voice betraying my near-drowning desperation. "Protect me, mother…"
With legs that felt as though they would collapse under the weight of my dread and hands trembling uncontrollably, I summoned every ounce of strength within me to rise from the familiar sanctuary of my bed. My heart thudded wildly in my chest, caught in a relentless tide of fear that left me feeling paralyzed. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally summoned the courage to grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door creaked open slowly, and there he stood before me, his presence suffocating the room with an aura of palpable rage.
"Next time I tell you to open this damn door, you do it immediately!" His voice dripped with fury, each word slicing through the air like a knife, igniting a chill that raced down my spine.
"Dad… d…ad; I'm sorry…" The stammering words slipped from my lips as I instinctively took a cautious step backward, trying to put distance between us as he stepped inside. The stench of alcohol clung to him like a shroud, a miasma that enveloped me and heightened my sense of impending dread.
"Why are you moving away from me, huh?" he questioned, a cruel edge to his voice that made my stomach churn.
"You filthy little whore," he spat, the words bitter and laced with contempt. The warm saliva struck my face, leaving me reeling, grappling to understand the vitriol behind his accusation. "Come here," he commanded with a gesture so dismissive, it was as though he viewed me as nothing more than an object to be claimed, devoid of humanity.
A wave of trembling coursed through my body, and a flood of conflicting emotions surged within me, paralyzing my thoughts. It was as if I were trapped in a storm of fear and confusion, unable to find an anchor. "I told you not to make me repeat myself," he growled, his voice low yet menacing, punctuated by the sharp crack of a slap that landed on my cheek, sending an agonizing sting radiating through my entire being.
A scream broke free from my throat, involuntary and raw, as he yanked my hair with such force that it made my scalp burn painfully. "Now you have the guts to be whoring around, right?" he sneered, a twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he reveled in my suffering.
Panic surged through me, the weight of his accusation settling heavily on my chest. "No, Dad… what Phoebe said is not…" I began, my voice shaking, but before I could finish, he hurled me against the wall with a force that expelled the breath from my lungs and left me gasping.
"You dared to talk back to me," he hissed, the volume of his voice echoing violently in the confined space, drowning me in a chaotic swirl of terror. "I've been preparing you for almost eight years, now, for you to be fully ripe and sweet!!!" The intention behind his words loomed heavy, too horrifying for comprehension.
Standing so close that I struggled to catch my breath amid the suffocating odor of alcohol, he leaned in, his breath hot against my face. "You should have waited for me to have the first taste," he murmured, the implication making my stomach churn violently, a wave of nausea overwhelming me.
"Wha… what are you talking about, Father?" My voice trembled, confusion battling against a growing sense of dread that twisted tightly within me.
Feeling dizzy from the impact of his aggression and the proximity of his looming figure, I fought to regain my composure, desperately resisting the pull of despair. "Did he first touch you here, huh?" he asked, his hand reaching out toward my chest, invading my personal space in a way that felt both terrifying and surreal.
"Father, what are you doing?" I exclaimed, scrambling away as the horrifying realization of his intentions began to dawn on me. "I am your daughter!"
"Daughter, my foot!" he roared, the disdain in his tone cutting through my spirit. "I only took you in for moments like this."
"Father, I think you are too drunk to think straight! Please, get out of my room!" The desperation that seeped into my voice poured out like a plea, but his laughter echoed darkly around me, a chilling sound that resonated off the walls and filled the air with a sense of impending doom.
"You're becoming more fierce; I like that," he remarked with a predatory advance, his movements calculated and sinister, each step toward me further instilling terror.
"Don't you dare get near me, Father!" I shouted, trying to assert myself, but my words fell upon deaf ears. He lunged at me suddenly, his left hand gripping my wrists with crushing force while his other hand pressed against my cheeks, the pressure causing pain to radiate through my jaw.
"You will allow other men to touch you but not me, huh?" His eyes blazed with an unsettling intensity, a madness flickering within.His anger was palpable, each accusation igniting a firestorm of rage within him. "How dare you lie to my face?" he hissed venomously, his hand crashing against my cheek once more. The force of the blow sent me sprawling back onto my mattress, the impact disorienting me for a moment. As I lay there, the world around me began to blur, but the cold reality of the situation pressed in, overwhelming me. With every passing second, my feelings of hope and safety eroded, replaced by a growing dread as he inched closer, methodically unbuckling his belt with a calculated malice that made my skin crawl.
"What are you doing?" My voice quavered, each word laced with an undertone of fear that I couldn't suppress. His response dripped with mockery and disdain. "I'm helping you do what you like… whoring around," he sneered, a twisted smile unfurling across his face, which made bile rise in my throat.
In a desperate attempt to regain control, I turned my thoughts inward, battling against the rising tide of terror. "Amora," I urged myself, "think of something—anything. You cannot allow this to unfold. Just a month away from your eighteenth birthday, your future is still in your hands. Don't let this vile man take what is rightfully yours." The urge to escape this nightmarish reality consumed me, clawing at the edges of my mind, urging me to fight back against the darkness that threatened to engulf me.
Suddenly, my fleeting moment of clarity shattered into a million pieces as he lunged toward me, his hands grasping at my clothing with a primal ferocity that rendered me frozen in fear. "No… no, Father… no!" The words escaped my lips like a prayer, but they fell upon deaf ears as tears began to stream down my cheeks, each drop a testament to the despair that wrapped around my heart like a vice.
"I can't let this happen…" The surge of adrenaline coursed through me, igniting a spark of defiance. In an instinctive act of survival, I delivered a swift kick to his groin, my body responding faster than my mind could comprehend. The sudden pain momentarily incapacitated him, and I seized the fleeting chance to push him off me with all the strength I could muster. His state of intoxication worked in my favor, leaving him unsteady and vulnerable as I scrambled to reclaim my agency.
In one hurried motion, I grabbed my bag and bolted from the room, urgency propelling my every step forward into the dark unknown. As I raced down the deserted streets, my heart pounded in my chest, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the chaos in my mind. Behind me, his voice cut through the silence, calling my name, begging me to return, but all that echoed in my ears was the sound of my own fear. The stillness of the night enveloped me, amplifying my sense of isolation, making me feel as if the entire world had been stripped away, leaving only me to wrestle with my spiraling thoughts. My mind raced with questions about who would come to my aid in this critical moment, a whisper of despair escaping my lips as the weight of my circumstances pressed heavily upon me.
Just as the bleak weight of hopelessness threatened to engulf me, a flicker of possibility ignited within my thoughts. I remembered the card Wilder had given me, a simple piece of paper that had felt insignificant in the light of day but now loomed large in my mind as a potential lifeline. A rush of gratitude filled me as I thought of my friend Hazel, who had selflessly lent me her spare phone during weekends. That small act of kindness, once taken for granted, felt monumental at this moment of crisis. With her phone in my possession, a critical connection had formed—a chance to reach out for help, a beacon of hope that could guide me through this overwhelming darkness.