Member-only story
My Father Left a Loaded Gun in the Hallway
Trigger warning: This story talks about addiction and abuse.
Dad was drunk again. I listened to his footsteps as he stomped up and down the hallway, over and over, mumbling crazy things. My bedroom wall shook as he slammed into it from the other side. I heard something — a mirror or a painting — fall to the ground.
My home wasn’t safe on nights like this.
Rolling out of bed quietly, I tiptoed toward my door and locked it. I prayed my siblings locked theirs as well, but checking on them was too risky. I wasn’t sure where my mom was, but it was only 1 a.m. She usually came home later, right before the sun illuminated the sky.
Mom wouldn’t protect us anyway. She’s the one who left us with an alcoholic every night.
I held my breath as my father continued pacing angrily outside of my bedroom, yelling about how someone needed to die. I wasn’t sure who, but it wasn’t going to be me. I just had to be very quiet.
Pressing my pillow against my face, I finally exhaled. My leg itched, but I didn’t dare scratch it. I was scared my father could hear every sound.
My fears were confirmed a moment later. The metal knob rattled on my door, and I…
