“What’s that on your face, baby?” I look at him, questioningly. He traces around my eye, gentle enough to not hurt me. “How did you get such a nasty black eye?”
I stare at him, confused. “You gave it to me because I came home late…”
He shakes his head. His thumb presses into the bruise and I flinch in pain. “Don’t lie. No one would ever believe such a ridiculous lie. Tell me how it happened.”
“But Daddy it’s true, you hit me yesterd–” A short, hard smack to the face ends my sentence. He grabs my throat. He holds his arm back, ready to strike.
“Last chance to tell the truth.”
A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I hate these games. I never win his games. I don’t even know when we’re playing anymore. “I opened the cupboard door and… it hit my face?”
He slaps my face, hard. My ears are ringing and my face is throbbing in pain. He gets ready to strike me again. “I’m not convinced, are you lying to me?”
“No, Daddy, please… I opened the door and hit myself in the face. Please don’t hurt me Daddy, please.” He slaps me again, almost his full strength. I taste blood. I struggle against him and try to talk between sobs. “I opened… the… door and–” he backhands my face and I moan in pain. He glares at me, and curls his hand into a fist.
I force myself to stop crying, managing to form a sentence before the sobs return. “I opened the cupboard door and hit myself in the face. That’s why I have a black eye. Please believe me, please, please.” I beg him, my eyes swimming with tears, my head aching from his blows.
“I believe you, babygirl. Now legs apart please, I need to punish you for being such a clumsy little bitch.”
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