The Things Left Unsaid

Morning came sooner than Vera had expected. She hadn't even heard when John had finally stumbled off to bed during the night, but she woke the moment he tripped over her body lying on the floor. In truth, she had fallen asleep exactly where he had beaten her.

Still hazy from all the whiskey he had drunk, John barely realized what he had tripped over. But the instant he recognized Vera, anger and disgust flashed across his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he growled. "Get out of the way before I trip over you again."

His words were accompanied by a rough kick to her thigh. Vera lifted her head and slowly forced herself to her feet. Her body still ached, stiff and sore after spending the entire night on the hard floor. She looked at him with a mixture of fear and quiet resentment but said nothing, knowing full well what would happen if she dared to argue.

He walked past her without the slightest concern for her condition, but after a few steps he turned back to look at her trembling figure.

"And don't think this is over," he warned. "You're still grounded for what you said yesterday. There won't be any school for you today."

The threat hung heavily in the air as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her standing there, unsteady and shaking.

Eventually, Vera gathered enough courage to follow him. John was right—there was no school that day. Not just because he had forbidden it, but because it was Saturday, and school simply wasn't in session.

Summoning every bit of courage she had, she decided to ask if she could go to the city library for a few hours.

As she approached the kitchen, John glanced up from his newspaper. The moment he saw her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly. "I thought I made it clear. You're staying home."

She hesitated, but despite his warning, she quietly asked her question anyway. Her voice trembled as she spoke.

"Could I... could I go to the library for a few hours? Please?"

At her request, John lowered the newspaper onto the table and stared at her for a long, silent minute. Vera shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wringing her hands together.

"Fine," he said at last, his answer sharp and dismissive as he waved a hand carelessly. "But don't even think about coming back late or trying anything stupid. When you're done, you come straight home." His voice hardened. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she mumbled. "Thank you."

Relief flickered across her face. Whenever she was frightened, Vera often addressed John formally. She called him sir, and he never corrected her. He had never cared much about titles or manners, so long as his stepdaughter wasn't insulting him.

She hurried toward the front door, grabbing her jacket as she went, eager to leave the house as quickly as possible. But before stepping outside, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.

"And... maybe we could talk later?" she asked timidly. "About... about everything?"

John's expression hardened instantly. He slammed the newspaper he had just picked back up onto the table, but by the time he turned to answer, Vera was already gone. She had probably rushed out the moment she saw his reaction.

With a heavy sigh, John walked over to close the front door, which she had left slightly ajar in her haste. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of the girl already sitting by the window of a bus pulling away from the stop.

"She's certainly quick," he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he shut the door.

The house fell silent.

He was alone again, with only the bottle of whiskey sitting on the living room table beside him. His oldest friend... and his worst enemy.

Without a word, he reached for the bottle and took a long drink before lowering himself into the worn armchair where he always sat when he drank.

He drank, and he waited for Vera to come home.

There was something he never admitted to anyone—not even to himself. Sometimes, when he looked at her, she reminded him so much of her mother that it hurt. In his own broken way, he loved the girl.

But the whiskey bottle had been his companion for far too many years, and he still couldn't bring himself to let it go.

Maybe one day.

But today was not that day.

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