I watch Steve's car drive away, the time reading two hours before my dad gets here. I finish my science homework, and do a little math before I hear a low rumbling from outside. My heart rate begins to pick up and I glance out of my bedroom window at the bright headlights of my dad's car. They shut off, and I duck my head out of the way as I hear a car door slam. He's angry. Oh no. I can hear him stomp up to the house and swing open the door. I try to breath quietly, as if it will stop him from finding me. But I know it will be sooner or later that he'll come up here or call me down. I should leave. I know. I should.

But I can't go downstairs. I just can't risk it like I have before. He always finds me. I can hear him crashing around downstairs, and I turn off my light, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Maybe if I pretend to be sleeping he'll leave me alone.

He stops moving, and I know he's probably getting drunk. A bottle of red wine has been sitting in our fridge since he left, and since that's not really Steve's thing, I know my dads probably gonna down the whole thing. I need to leave, but I somehow can't. I sit there, paralyzed, my mind rushing through random thoughts. I can't seem to focus on moving, my limbs seem to weigh a hundred pounds as I sit on my bed in the dark. I don't know how long I am there, my heart pounding and my ears waiting for sound. But suddenly I hear the slam of a fridge door, and my father's voice shouts through the house.

"Liz!" He calls and I begin to hyperventilate.

I breath heavily and tears threaten to fall, but I keep them in like usual.

"Get down here!"

Suddenly, as if a shock is being sent through my body, I'm able to move. I jerk into a standing position, and turn to my window as footsteps begin to thump below me. I fumble with the lock, not knowing how to loosen it. My fingers grow numb and I can't get it open. His footsteps grow louder, and he starts to climb the stairs. I finally get the lock off, and I forget to be quiet, throwing the window open. I look down, seeing the roof of our garage as I swing my legs over the sill. My bedroom door is thrown open and I gasp, turning to see my father with an empty bottle in his hand, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. He breaths as heavy as me, and drops the bottle as he growls drunkenly. I turn back and close my eyes, jumping onto the roof as my father lunges for me. He crosses my room in one step and grabs my hood, choking me as I hang out of the window. I gag, and my toes graze the roof. He pulls, and my head slams against the bottom of the sill. I shout out slightly, and I can hear his growl. I fumble for the hem of my hoodie and slip my arms through, crumpling onto the roof as I'm released. I grunt as I hit it, and swallow gulps of air greedily. My father shouts above me, but I don't hear him as I stand up and stagger to the edge of the roof, risking the jump to the car and denting it slightly. I roll off and run to my bike, jumping on it and riding down my street as my dad opens the front door. He shouts after me and I try to ignore his words.

"You piece of shit!" He hollers, "You're dead!"

"Dead!"

I squint back tears and fly down the road, looking back to make sure his car isn't following. I hear a loud honk as I turn back to the road, and gasp when I see a car in front of me. I slam on my breaks and collide with it, sending me rolling over the hood and onto the top. The momentum knocks the air out of me and I lie half on the top and half on the back glass, trying to breath. A car door slams and someone pulls me off the car as I gasp for breath. I feel a bruise forming on my ribs, and I groan as I'm placed on the ground.

"Holy shit."

Of course it's him. Whenever I screw up he's there. It's always him.

"What the hell kid?!" Hopper lifts me to my feet, "You scared the shit out of me!"

I frantically swivel my head around, my eyes wild.

"Hey kid calm down." He shakes me, "Calm down! It's okay! You're alright."

I look up at him and blink a few times before slowing my breathing.

"What are you even doing out here at this time of night?" He demands, but I can see it in his eyes that he has his suspicions.

"I—I..I," I stutter aimlessly, still trying to catch my breath. I want so badly to tell him the truth, to tell him that my dad's home and he's drunk and he's going to hurt me. But I don't want him to get involved, he has enough to worry about with Joyce and Will.

"I was just riding around. For fun you know?" I'm still frantic, but I manage to spit out my lie.

"Really? Cause you look like you saw another ghost." He looks worried. Angry yes, but still worried.

"It's night. I heard an owl. Got scared, didn't look where I was going."

I rub my bruised ribs and Hopper sighs.

"You think I don't know you're lying?"

I look at him, "What?"

"I'm a cop, kid. I'm trained to spot someone fibbing. You do it every time I see you. Every time something happens you make an excuse and I know something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." I say through gritted teeth.

"You think I'm an idiot?!?" He shouts and I don't flinch, used to his anger by now. "I thought after last year I'd be done with your stunts. But you're still pulling them, just now you're lying about them. What's so bad that you need to hide from me huh?"

"I don't want you to worry. And it's none of your business."

"If it's anyone's business it's mine! Something's up with you. You either tell me or I find out. Your choice."

I narrow my eyes, "So you're saying you're completely honest with me then? You think I don't notice you suspiciously driving at night or buying clothes for children?"

He freezes, "What are you? A detective?"

"No." I say, "I'm saying it's none of my business what's going on. And I respect what you're doing is better than whatever I can think of in my head. I suggest you do the same."

I turn from him and he growls, "You can't guilt me away from this kid! I'm onto you!"

"I'm terrified." I say flatly and grab my bike from under his car, hopping on it.

He grumbles behind me but gets back in his car as I stare into his back window. My heart clenches and I frown, looking at the boxes and groceries stashed behind the drivers seat. My eyes narrow and then widen, my head snapping to make eye contact with Hopper in the rear view mirror. He drives away and I purse my lips, shaking my head and turning back onto my street as the image of four new boxes of eggos sits freshly in my mind.

I close the door sadly, ready to face my father but not happy about it. I hear his footsteps and look up to see his grinning mouth chugging another bottle of wine.

Shit. I know it will be horrible, and I'm happy Steve's not here to stand up for me. Because I don't want him to have to endure any of it.

My father stalks towards me and slaps me across the face. I bite my lip and he grabs me by the hair, slamming my head into the wall and dragging me into the kitchen.

My head throbs, and I know I probably have a concussion after all the head banging today. It's okay though, I've had concussions before. I struggle against his vice grip and he grabs my throat, his foul breath stinging my nostrils as he hisses into my face.

"You dirty brat. Disrespectful, disobedient." He smashes a wine bottle against my head and I yelp, "You foul piece of shit!"

I'm shoved to the ground, and he picks me up, throwing me across the table. I slam into the ground and gasp, standing up and staggering away from the menace that is my father. He points a stubby finger at me and slurs.

"You needa show some respect you lil shit."

I'm speechless. I know words won't help me, so I just let myself get backed into the wall by the stove. He grabs my hand and I tug against his strength as he pulls my palm onto the hot stove. I scream, the heat tearing away at my skin. I feel it bubbling beneath me and sweltering at my nerves. I struggle, but he doesn't stop. He has no sense of sanity, so I know he won't stop. I knee him in the crotch and he grunts, recoiling from me and growling in frustration and pain.

I yelp as my hand springs from the scorching surface, and I look at the peeling, blistering skin. My dad lunges at me and tackles me to the ground, punching me in the face. I struggle and he punches me again, pulling me up and slamming me into the wall.

"You piece a shit. You're gonna pay for that."

He punches me again and grabs a knife from the counter, pinning me to the wall with his arm across my chest. I struggle and my eyes widen as he holds the knife to the top of my nose. He runs it down my face, cutting slightly into my chin. He rests the knife against the neck and grins at me, his eyes glazed with drunken power. I know he'll do it. I know he's not afraid to. My breathing picks up and I'm reminded of the time I went willingly into the Upside Down to die. It was different then. I thought people didn't want me. I thought no one loved me. But after all these months, I've grown closer with my friends. And I think they really do love me. I think Steve, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Joyce, and even Hopper at least care for me. They would care if I died, and that's why I want to live. They are my will to keep on living. They are who I live for. I love them, and I'm not dying tonight because of my drunk father.

But I can't move, he has me pinned. I try to kick him, but he stands to the side so he's out of reach. He presses the knife into my throat slightly, almost drawing blood. I shrink back into the wall, trying to melt into it and away from the dull blade against my throat. My blistered hand burns with pain, and I use my left hand to search the counter to the left of me. I feel a frying pan in the sink, covered in soapy water. I grasp it tightly, and as my father seems to make his decision, I swing it into his skull. He goes tumbling sideways, blacking out right away.

As he falls he drops his knife, and it clatters to the ground as I fall to my knees, gasping for air. I let a few tears fall, wiping them away as I lean against the wall in agony. My hand throbs even more than my head, and I take it over to the sink. The cold water numbs it, and I set my jaw to keep from making a noise, not wanting to wake my dad. From what I can tell however, he's not waking any time soon.

I head to the bathroom and decide not to look at my hand, not wanting to see the damage. I just coat it in cream, trying not to whimper with pain, then wrap it up quickly. I take a Tylenol for my head and all the other pain, washing my face so the dried blood scrubs away from all the new wounds I have.

I know Steve will be home soon, so I clean up my dad's barf, along with my blood and any other mess that's been made. I put the shards of glass in the garbage and head upstairs, out of reach from my dad. I sit on my bed, staring out the window and trying to numb away the pain. I wait for the painkillers to kick in, sitting in the dark and trying to clear my head.

Soon enough, or too soon if you will, Steve's car rolls into the driveway. I get under my covers and turn over, evening out my breathing so it sounds like I'm asleep. I can hear him walk through the front door, the obvious sound of his footsteps stopping dead as he sees my dad.

I guess he takes my dad to his room, because his footsteps turn heavy, dragging against the floor. Then I hear him bounding up the stairs, and I focus on my breathing again, closing my eyes as I face the wall. He swings open my door, and I can hear him about to say something. Then he sees me, and walks over.

I can feel his eyes inspecting me for injuries, but I did a good job of hiding my face, so he'll just have to wait until morning comes.

Eventually he leaves the room, and I relax, letting my mind drift for real and dozing into a troubled sleep.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Woo hoo! Pain!

Hehe. Yeah.

That's honestly all I have to say.