I looked out of the window and up at the peaceful night. The tranquil breeze wafted in and out of the trees, creating the beautiful sound of nothingness. But I knew better. The muted darkness hid the true heart of Detroit. The silence was short-lived as sounds of drunk men and screaming women pierced the quiet air. I couldn't help but wonder if my father was amongst them, toasting to things that would make me shiver.
I turned away and focused on the jagged hole in the wall. Miniscule shards of amber glass glinted in the lamplight, dangerously jutting out. A thick shadow of dried alcohol stained the wall. As notions of sleep tugged at my thoughts, I pushed them away. Instead, I looked deep into the hole, hoping that somewhere along the dark edges I'd find my father. The thought was quickly shut down by the cold, hard truth. Dad had found what he was looking for. He embraced his alcohol-affected choices. I had to embrace the aftermath of them.
With each splatter that met the ragged carpet, I counted the seconds. Every drop signaled the inevitable.  I tugged the coarse blanket up to my chin as I looked at the entrance of my room. The old blue door could hardly stand anymore, much less close. Remnants of its old sapphire days were wiped clean by constant misuse. My eyes traveled once again, back to the hole in the wall, and I shuddered as I was overcome by a wave of pain.
The familiar sound of tumbling footsteps interrupted the bleak silence. I looked up from my book to see him come into my room. Trails of beer lined his mouth and dripped from the scruff covering his face. His newly-gained weight threw off his footing as he stumbled around. The dark shirt was soaked in a pungent liquid, and his pants had torn at the cuffs. His deep red hair was matted down to his forehead, dripping sweat into his already scarlet-veined eyes. In his left hand was an ever-present bottle of beer. His right hand was bunched into a fist, aimed at my face.
I quickly ducked,"Dad?! What's going on?"
I knew that he was a drunk, but I had always been hopeful that he would never hurt me.
"You! You should've died. You should've been the one to go. Why her?”
"Dad, you're just drunk right now. It'll wear off, just go to bed! Please, Daddy!"
He lunged himself towards me, but I dived to the left. He crashed into the door instead, letting out a deep-throated growl. I was terrified, yet I had no where to go. I scrambled to think of something as he rose from his defeated position. But, I came up with nothing. He was my dad. I couldn't hit him. He got up, and slammed me into the wall. The air cut off from my lungs. Struggling to take another breath, I raised my fist and hit him. He was thrown off for a few seconds. When he regained his bearings, he slapped me across the face. I could feel a burning sensation traveling from that one spot on my cheek, across my face and down into my arms. This was nothing compared to the pain from my breaking heart. Never had I ever imagined that he would lay a hand on me. But, I was proven wrong in the worst way possible.
All of a sudden, he stopped. He lifted his hands from my bruised arms and paused. He picked up the stray bottle of beer rolling on the floor. Before I could say anything, he threw it at the wall, in the space right above my head. The thin layer of sheetrock was quickly penetrated. The force caused the beer bottle to shatter, taking the alcohol along. After his fit, all he did was walk out, leaving me terrified beneath broken glass and dripping alcohol.
I snapped back into the present with a shock. A crash erupted from the floor below. I looked at the scarlet letters glowing on the alarm clock. 3:07 AM. The heavy steps echoed on the staircase, in tune with my trembling heart. I burrowed deeper into the covers, trying to drown myself beneath all of this. But all I could do was cry when I saw the dark figure standing in the doorway.