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A bottle of vodka is half-empty on the counter.

“Mireya.”

His voice slurs my name, heavy with that same drunk anger I’ve known my whole life. It’s what scares me the most about him, the way he says my name when the alcohol’s taken over, when nothing’s working in his head anymore. The voice he uses right before he breaks something or slaps me. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m his daughter too.

“What the fuck is that?” He asks, taking another drink, then he reaches for the envelope on the table. “What. Is. That?”

I don’t move, putting back the same mask I always wear in front of him. The strong daughter. The cold one. The one who never cries. The one who never gives in.

“You tell me.”

He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief, “Strange to not know things that have your fucking name on them.” The glass in his hand lands violently on the table. “Try that again.”

I swallow, crossing my arms tight against my chest. “It’s nothing.”

His fingers tighten around the envelope, and a humorless laugh escapes his lips. “You think I wouldn’t find out?” he says, voice slurring, mean and tired. “St. Ellesta, the FBI bullshit. What, you think you’re better than me now?”

“Listen—”

“Don’t.” He cuts me off, walking closer to me now. And I want to disappear back to the cliffs again, just to avoid facing the first man who ever taught me how unkind this world could be.

“I got a fucking letter from St. Ellesta this morning saying you’re leaving to Virginia? Guess what happened next… I called this fucking school and they told me you were studying there for a whole year. Where was Milo?”

“That’s not it–” I stutter but he is not done.

“You little fucking liar. You were going there leaving your little brother alone. Because what? You think you deserve better? You think this is not enough ? Ungrateful kid.”

“I never said that,” I mutter, keeping my voice low.

I can feel the rage under my ribs already, that small and scared instinct that never went away. The one who never stopped being scared of him.

Remember, your father but never your dad.

“I’m just trying to do something with my life. For me. For Milo.”

He laughs, even if it’s not funny. He laughs because he wants to hurt me.

He knows it does hurt.

Some people touch a bruise without realizing it's there. Some people make a home out of it. And he taught me to do both just by laughing at anything that I did to make him proud.

No matter how hard I try, he’ll never be satisfied.

“For you? You’re just like your mother. Same delusional brain. Same empty eyes. She thought she was gonna be something too. Look where that got her.”

Look what that got her…

“She killed herself because of you,” I lied.

It came out of my mouth like a secret I never said out loud. She didn’t die for nothing. Even if she didn’t do it herself, he would’ve killed her one day or another.

That’s the truth. And he hates it.

The slap comes before I can even blink. My head jerks to the side, my cheek burning. I’ve been hit harder by him before. But this one, this one hurts the most. I’m twenty three now, I shouldn’t be feeling like the old little girl I was before.

I shouldn’t want to cry, or scream, and just pass out from all the tears that would come out. I shouldn’t feel like ending this life would be better for me.

I shouldn’t feel small anymore.