The Walls Remember

Reader Advisory: The following chapter contains themes of domestic violence, child abuse, and emotional trauma, including scenes of physical assault. Some readers may find the content upsetting.

Vera was indeed late getting home. She knew John had probably managed to get himself drunk while she was gone, if only so he could remind her that she was late and use it as an excuse to punish her. He had never actually told her how long she was allowed to stay at the library.

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she stepped through the front door. The sound was enough to alert John's alcohol-clouded mind that his stepdaughter had returned. He was already drunk—a half-empty bottle of whiskey stood on the table in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, and barely restrained anger simmered beneath the surface as he turned to face the girl.

"Well, well," he muttered bitterly. "Look who finally decided to grace me with her presence. And look at the time. You're late. Again."

He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, knocking the chair over behind him. The loud crash made Vera flinch, and instinctively she took a step back toward the door.

"You think you can come and go whenever you want?" John hissed, appearing beside her far quicker than his drunken state should have allowed. "You think I don't notice my own daughter showing me this kind of disrespect?"

Before she could react, he seized her arm with surprising force, dragging her farther into the house. With his other hand, he slammed the still half-open front door shut behind her.

"I've had enough of your disobedience," he growled. "It's time you learned your lesson once and for all."

His free hand rose, fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike.

Vera shrank away from him, raising her free arm to shield her face.

At the sight of the gesture, John hesitated. His fist froze in the air above his cowering stepdaughter. He slowly released the arm he was holding. For the briefest moment, something that almost resembled regret—or uncertainty—crossed his face. But the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same familiar anger.

"Get up," he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. "Get up and face me like a woman instead of cowering there like a coward."

Vera didn't move. Slumped against the wall where she had collapsed after he let go, she kept both arms wrapped tightly around her head. Her whole body was shaking.

John grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to pull her upright, but she only curled into herself even tighter.

"Damn it!" he shouted, shaking her violently. "I said get up!"

At last, Vera slowly pushed herself to her feet, her head lowered, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I'm sorry for being late," she whispered.

For a long moment John simply stared at her. His chest rose and fell heavily with anger and exertion. Gradually, the grip of his hands on her shoulders loosened, and he took a slow step backward.

"Sorry?" he repeated, every syllable dripping with mockery. "Sorry? Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and disappointment.

"You know what? I'm tired of this. I'm tired of your constant disobedience. I'm your father, and you will respect me."

He turned away from her, pacing back and forth in front of the television. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a lower, more threatening tone.

"You're grounded. Indefinitely. No more school, no more going anywhere. You'll stay right here where I can keep an eye on you."

He finally stopped, staring over his shoulder at the wall rather than at her.

For the first time since she'd come home, Vera looked up at him. Tomorrow was Sunday—there wasn't any school anyway. She held his gaze, her own expression strangely cold.

"If Mom were here... this would be her fault," she said quietly.

The words were soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the television, but not so quiet that John failed to hear them.

His face immediately flushed red with fury.

He turned toward her, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"What did you say?" he hissed through gritted teeth, taking a slow, menacing step toward her. "What did you just say about your mother?"

Vera instinctively backed away, realizing her mistake a moment too late. She shook her head frantically as she retreated.

"I didn't mean it... I didn't..." she stammered, her frightened voice breaking apart.

But John was already moving toward her. His eyes looked wild now, consumed entirely by rage.

"You ungrateful little brat!" he roared. "How dare you talk about your mother? She was nothing but a selfish bitch who abandoned us!"

He grabbed Vera by the throat and slammed her back against the wall. The impact forced the air from her lungs, and she gasped desperately, clawing at his hands as dark spots began to dance before her eyes.

"If she were here..." John snarled, his fury burning hotter with every passing second.

Vera struggled with all the strength she had left, trying to pry his iron grip from around her neck. Somehow, she managed to pull in the smallest breath and force out a single, barely audible word.

"I'm... sorry."

The moment the words left her lips, John let go.

Vera collapsed to the floor, coughing violently and struggling for air. John remained standing over her, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing after unleashing his anger.

"You're just like her," he said, the words falling from his lips like poison. "You think you can say whatever you want, do whatever you want, without consequences? Well, I'll show you. I'll beat that rebellious streak out of you once and for all."

Then he began kicking her in the ribs and sides until tears streamed down her face. She curled herself into a ball, desperately trying to protect what she could from the blows.

"You'll learn to respect me," he growled through clenched teeth. "You'll learn your place. And if I have to beat you every single day until you do, then that's exactly what I'll do."

 He struck her without mercy, letting his anger consume him completely.

In the end, the girl simply gave up. She lay there, taking the beating that had become all too common within the walls of that house. She cried until there were no tears left, and then she closed her eyes as consciousness slipped away.

As darkness claimed her, she found herself praying that she would never wake again—that this would be the last time she would ever have to suffer.

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