[ WP ] At some point , we are all the villain in somebody 's life .

It crept up on her, the lingering feeling of sickness in her stomach, a heavy weight pulling her towards the ground, a gravitational effect equal to the pull of the earth coming from just one person. She hides the knees she scraped trying to escape his pull under skirts that don ’ t flatter her figure but make him happy -- a daughter should be modest, he said -- and she contemplates becoming a stereotypical runaway who throws away everything she ’ s got for freedom. 
 
 Her friends talk her down every time she comes close, sitting stopped in front of a green light in the dead of night with no one behind her and a voice on the phone telling her she ’ s so close to leaving, just wait a little bit longer. She doesn ’ t quite believe it but she goes home anyway, hoping he didn ’ t stay up late waiting for her again, and takes as hot a shower as she can stand. She drinks nyquil to fall asleep and slips in between cheap sheets, waiting for a different kind of wave to take her down, floating only half-awake through disjointed thoughts. 
 
 She waits until he ’ s gone to get ready for class, rushing to be on time, and comes home before he finishes work, carefully cultivating a schedule that avoids as much interaction between them as possible. When she passes by him in the moments she can ’ t avoid, he grips her arm tightly, calloused hands feeling like a violation on her wrists specifically tailored for her, and he asks her the same questions he always does, trying to get her to talk to him. 
 
 He doesn ’ t know why his daughter has been so distant lately. 
 
 ____________ 
 
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