Spencer still couldn’t believe her father was standing in front of her, leading the group upstairs to a small briefing room. For weeks she prayed to see him or touch him but now that he was in front of her she couldn’t move or speak, her mind working on over drive. The events of the night her family died, the ones she tried so hard to forget came rushing back.

Flash Back:

“You are not going to that party tonight and that’s final,” Paula yelled at her daughter.

“Why not?” Spencer screamed back. She’d done her homework, cleared the table and did the dishes without being asked and even picked her room up, there was no reason she shouldn’t be able to go out.

“Because we said so,” Her father joined in.

“That’s not a reason,”

“You need more?” Spencer nodded, “No parents are at this party…drinking…drugs probably and that dancing. I will not have a child of mine grinding on another person!” Arthur stated calmly while drinking his scotch.

“Besides look at what you’re wearing, do you want someone to rape you?” Her mother asked picking at her baby tee.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Spencer glanced down at her scandals which brought out her red painted toenails up her slender legs to a jean mini skirt which was just above her knees and snuggled close to her hips giving them an extra flare right on up to her spaghetti strap blue top that showed off her stomach and brought out her eyes. Light on the make up, not gothic, any male or female would die to be by her side.

“You’re dressed like a slut is what’s wrong,” Arthur finally fed up with the argument set his glass down and stared at his daughter, “Go up to your room and go to bed!”

“But it’s only seven thirty,” she whined.

“I don’t care, scoot!” Arthur pointed to the ceiling indicating she better be up there in a matter of seconds. Sighing she turned on her heels and went up stairs, “And you better be wearing some decent close for a girl your age…” the rest of his rant was cut off as she closed her door and flopped onto her bed.