April spent the entire day in silence.
Her father didn't care. He had stumbled into his bedroom after it was over, passing out like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't taken something from her.
Like she wasn't shattered into a million pieces.
But she wasn't broken.
Not anymore.
April sat at the kitchen table, hands resting against the wood, mind blank. The house was still, the kind of stillness that came before a storm.
And she was the storm.
The knife was in her hand before she even realized she had grabbed it. Cold, sharp, familiar.
April traced her thumb along the edge, not enough to cut—just enough to feel the promise of pain.
This ends tonight.
April stood, moving through the house without making a sound.
Her father's door was slightly open. His loud snores filled the hallway.
April stepped inside, watching his disgusting form sprawled across the bed.
His mouth hung open, breath thick with alcohol, arms loose at his sides. For the first time in her life, he looked small.
Weak.
April's grip tightened around the knife.
She could do it. One deep plunge into his throat, and it would be over. He wouldn't be able to hurt her anymore. Wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again.
Her heart pounded, but her hands didn't shake.
April raised the knife—
Then he moved.
His eyes snapped open, bloodshot and dark.
"The hell—?"
April struck.
The blade came down, aiming for his throat—
But he was faster than she expected.
His hand shot up, grabbing her wrist.
Pain exploded through her arm as he twisted, yanking her forward. She gasped, the knife slipping from her fingers, clattering onto the bed.
"You bitch!"
The next moment, she was airborne.
Her back slammed against the dresser, knocking the wind out of her.
April barely had time to react before he was on her, a fist slamming into her ribs.
April coughed, gasping for breath, but she didn't stop fighting.
April's hand shot out, grabbing the closest thing she could reach—a glass ashtray from the dresser.
April swung.
It shattered against his temple.
He cursed, stumbling back, blood dripping down the side of his face.
April didn't wait. She lunged for the knife—
A hand grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face into the dresser.
Pain.
Blinding, white-hot pain.
April screamed, something wet dripping down her face. Her vision swam, her ears ringing.
The room spun.
No—it wasn't spinning. It was fading.
Darkness swallowed the edges of her sight, creeping inward, consuming everything.
Her father was saying something, but April couldn't hear him.
April couldn't hear anything.
The last thing April saw before the world went black was the look on his face.
Not anger.
Not satisfaction.
Fear.
Then—nothing.
April woke up in a hospital bed, drowning in silence and darkness.
April realized she would never see or hear again.