The house smelled like cheap beer and sweat.
April sat on the old couch, body stiff, staring at the television. The volume was low, but she wasn't really listening.
It was just noise—something to fill the silence, something to make her feel like she wasn't alone.
Her father had been out all day, and April prayed he wouldn't come back. Sometimes, he disappeared for nights at a time, drowning himself in alcohol and whatever misery kept him breathing.
Those were the good nights. The quiet nights.
But tonight wasn't one of them.
The front door slammed open, hitting the wall hard enough to shake the picture frames.
April froze.
Heavy boots stomped against the floor, uneven, clumsy. Drunk. He was drunk.
A bottle crashed against the wall, shattering into tiny pieces.
"Where the hell are you?" His voice was thick with alcohol, slurred but sharp, like a blade pressed against her throat.
April didn't move. Didn't breathe. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he would pass out. Maybe he would forget she existed, just for tonight.
Then he saw her.
"There you are," he muttered, staggering toward her. His shirt was stained, his breath thick with whiskey. "Sitting there like a damn ghost. Just like your mother."
April's hands clenched into fists.
He hated when she looked like her mother. And she did—same dark hair, same quiet eyes. It was a curse. A reminder.
A reason to hurt her.
"Come here."
April didn't move.
His face twisted, and then he grabbed her arm, yanking her up so hard her shoulder burned.
"I said—"
"Let go."
April didn't know why she said it. Maybe it was the years of pain, the nights of pretending not to exist, the weight of her mother's death pressing down on her.
Maybe she was just tired.
His grip tightened. "What did you just say to me?"
April's heart pounded. She should've backed down. Should've stayed quiet.
But she didn't.
"Let. Go."
The next moment, pain exploded across her face.
April hit the floor, head spinning, the taste of blood filling her mouth.
He stood over her, breathing heavily, eyes dark with something she had never seen before. Something worse than rage.
Something final.
"You think you can talk back now?" He knelt, grabbing a fistful of her hair, forcing her to look up. "You think you're strong?"
April's vision blurred. She knew what was coming.
But April never could have prepared for it.
Not for the way he held her down.
Not for the way he stole the last piece of herself.
Not for the way she broke.
April didn't sleep that night.
April just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing.
She was hollow.
Empty.
A corpse in her own skin.
And then, as the sun rose, something inside her snapped back into place.
Not the girl she used to be. That girl was gone.
What was left was something else.
Something sharp.
Something hungry.
Something that whispered, Kill him.