Anais stood belligerently in front of her father, his empty beer can clenched in her hand. Her emerald-hued eyes flickered in obvious distaste from his bloodshot eyes down to his sweat-stained shirt, and his holey, dingy blue boxers. He reeked of alcohol and disappointment. "Anais, I...can't shee...wish you in the way. Your whore of a mother wash no glash ladee sho I can't she the TV," her father slurred, his head lolling back on his shoulders. Her lip curled in contempt as she dropped the can. It hit the floor with a jangle, clashing with the loud cheering of the TV audience behind her.
"Ana...is, I am gunna beat your ash...if you don't move." He sat up a little straighter in his chair, blinking in the dim light.
"No, Daddy. You'll never hit me again, YOU DRUNK SON OF A BITCH!" She pulled his 9 mm Smith and Wesson from the back of her jeans and stuck the barrel right between his eyes. The sounds of the TV faded as the blood drained from his face, as her hand shook in fear and adrenaline. He seemed to sober up in that moment, nervously clearing his throat. "Anais...Don't do this, baby. Daddy will buy you something. Put the gun away."
She hated him, felt the swirl of contempt and rage in her gut, threatening to crawl up her throat. "Y-you made Mom leave! You made Mom find someone else, you dick! I want to shoot you so fucking bad that I can taste it. I want to see you die and know that you're burning in Hell."
Fat tears rolled down her face. She had used to love her Daddy, back when they were still a happy family, before he started drinking and Mom left, before he took his pain out on Anais.
"How long did you think you could keep hitting me before something happened? How long? HOW LONG!?" She screamed at him, a harsh sob choking her, the gun shaking between his eyes with a metallic click.
"Oh, God! Don't kill me! I'm so sorry!" His voice turned into a whimper.
Her tears abruptly dried and her hands steadied. Her gaze, twin brilliant green pools of fire, narrowed on his face. "You're not sorry."
Her finger curled arond the trigger as he blubbered in fear, tears leaking from his panicked eyes. Blue eyes. She had her mother's green eyes.
She realized that he had helped make her, even if the thought was repulsive to her. Leaning forward, she slammed the butt of the gun into his temple, watching as he dropped to the ground, unconscious.
Tossing the gun to his chair, she turned and went back to her room, gathering her meager belongings. Placing her bag by the front door, she went into the kitchen, pulling her black hair up into a slick, high ponytail. She hummed a tune as she opened the door to the oven, tapped her fingers along as she pulled the gas line out. As she left the kitchen, she walked into the living room and smiled at her father, still knocked out.
"I never said I wasn't going to kill you."
She kicked him hard in the ribs as she walked over him, pausing by his chair to pull out a book of matches from the small coffee table. With one last look at the home she had despised so much, she picked up her bag and stood in the doorway. She pulled out the book of matches and lit one with a soft smile. Tossing it behind her left shoulder, she walked away, not even looking back when she felt the heat of the flames engulfing her home and her father.