Chapter 39

**Megan**

Sitting at my dressing table I can hear my father moving about downstairs. He hasn't bothered me since he woke up, which was about an hour ago, so he either forgot about me or he thinks I'm dead. Either way, I'm happy.

Knocking sounds through my room. "Sweetheart, you up?" I hear Jonathon say. I sigh and look down at my lap. I’m so tired. "Sweetheart?" he calls.

"I'm up," I answer.

"Urm...what do you want for Breakfast?" I hear him ask. I stay silent, not wanting to answer "Are you dressed?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, not that it matters after what he’s done to me. He opens the door. I turn on my buffet so my back is towards him.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I say quietly.

"Sweets," he says worryingly.

"Jonathon, I'm fine," I say loudly. I have never called him by his first name. It is always Dad. I can hear him move closer, and I pray he won't move in front of me. "I should go brush my teeth," I say quickly, getting up, and I feel him put his hand on my arm.

"Sweets," he says and sounds like he is scared.

"I need to go brush my teeth," I say, moving my head slightly to the side.

"Megan," he says. "Please look at me," he begs. I shake my head and move out of his grasp.

"You should get ready for work, Dad," I say once I'm in my bathroom and looking in the mirror. My left eye is so swollen I can hardly see out of it, and a pink-violet colour covers it. I gulp and put my hands over the other bruises on my face, slowly caressing them as if to wipe them away and then started brushing my teeth.

While brushing my teeth, I think of numerous ways to cover it as I know make-up won't. I could use sunglasses, but once I get into a lesson, I know a teacher will ask me to take them off, and people will wonder why I'm wearing sunglasses in winter.

Once I finish, I leave my bathroom to see Jonathon is gone. I sit back at my vanity mirror and start to put on makeup.

"Sweetheart," I hear my father say, and I turn slightly so he can't see my face. I can hear his footsteps as he walks closer. A tear goes down my cheek and onto my hand, and I quickly wipe it away. "Why won't you look at me?" he asks, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. "Sweets," he says and slowly turns me to look at him, and I still don't look him in the eye.

He takes his hand off my shoulder to rub his face and walks into my bathroom. I sigh, and more tears run down my cheeks. He comes back in and kneels in front of me. "P...Put this on it," he says, moving a cold-soaked flannel into my hand.

"What's the point?" I say, turning and putting the face cloth on my vanity mirror table. "It won't go down," I state and start to put some more make up on.

"I'm sorry," he says. I stay quiet and continue doing what I'm doing. "I promise I'll get help, I swear to you," he sobs.

"No, you won't," I say, getting up from my seat. "You said that last time, and you didn't. Your pride gets in your way," I say, looking for a jumper to cover the bruises and cuts on my arms.

"I will," he says, now standing up. "You can even come with me; I'll shut him away," my ears perk at what he said, and I turn to look at him.

"You know what condition you have?" I ask, slowly taking a jumper from my closet. He nods and looks away from me. "How long?" I ask.

"For a while...I was diagnosed at 15," he states. My eyes widen slightly. "Something happened to me when I was five years old, and then when the bad things stopped, I was 13, and that's when the things started to happen," he explains. "I got help at 16, and by the time I was 19, he was gone," he explains. I look away from him and up at the ceiling, trying to stop myself from crying.

"Did Mom know?" I ask. He nods, and I sigh. "And you both decided not to tell me?" I ask. he nods again "I think I'm just going to go to school now," I say, nearly crying and put on my jacket and pick up my old bag.

"No, Megan, wait," he says, grabbing me.

"Please get off me," I say, looking down at the floor.

"I'm sorry," he pauses. "I never thought it would come back. I thought it was gone forever," he says. "I will get help," he says. "You have a study period later, don't you?" he asks. I nod slightly. "I'll book an appointment with my old therapist for then, and you can come with me, and I'm going to show you I want to get help," he says. "Please," he begs. I sigh and nod "Thank you, sweetheart," he says and hugs me. I don't hug him back. My arms stay at my sides. All I want to do is get away from him. "I'll drive you to school," he says.

"No," I say quickly. He looks down, a little hurt, but I don't want to be near him. "I want to go on my own if that's ok," he nods, takes his arms from around me, starts to walk out of my room, and then stops at the doorway.

"Don't get in the car if it's not me, ok?" he says, turning his head slightly. I nod and look away from him. "I don't blame you for not..." I hear him mutter as he walks off. I can't hear the last bit, and I don't want to, really.

I just want to get out of this house and away from him.

After another half hour, I leave the house and walk to school with my music on as high as possible. The walk to school isn't long, about fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on my mood or, indeed, my condition. The walk to school always calms me. It means I'm away from home and free for six hours, seven if you count how early I go in. If I go in an hour early, I have more time to think and read sometimes even deciding whether to go to class.

I have my hood up so no one can see the black eye I have, and my hair covers it slightly. To anyone walking past, it would just look like I'm trying to keep warm and nothing more, and people will probably think that in school until I lift my head. I'm dreading seeing Tyler and Melanie as I know how they will react straight away, so I need to think of a really good lie for this.

My peaceful walk is soon over once I reach school. I walk into the big building and straight to my locker to retrieve the needed books. Once I have the books I want I set off for the library.