She watched her father frown at her, disappointment in his eyes. She felt a pang of guilt hit her in the chest. Guilt at lying to her father. But she...she just couldn't tell him the truth. She hated the disappointment in his eyes, but if she had to admit to him the reality of the situation, Charlee feared the disappointment would be so much worse to watch. All she ever wanted from her father was for him to love her and be proud of her. He would hate her if he discovered what she was hiding, Charlee panicked.
Jonathon sighed, shaking his head slowly. For a moment, Charlee was filled with relief. He had bought her lies. The disapproval must be over her alcohol related lie. Everything would be alright. She would receive a lecture on the dangers of underage drinking and would be reprimanded to whatever level her father saw as necessary. She'd be watched a little more carefully for the following week or so, but then he'd leave her alone. Her habit was safe. He would go, and she could take out the packet of pills that she knew was pressed under her mattress, just below her, and she could pop a few and the world would be better. Everything would go back to how it should be. But his voice interrupted her grateful thoughts.
“Charlee, I told you: don’t lie to me. You know better than that.” His tone held the hint of trouble, and his words plunged Charlee into a whole new world of panic. Her chest tightened again and her breathing hitched unmistakably. She blinked as the world swirled out of focus, trying to concentrate on her father's face without showing her internal fear.
Jonathon lifted his hand to rub his neck, and as his hand raised, Charlee flinched. Her father had never ever laid a malicious hand on her, nor did she ever expect him to, but the action was utterly involuntary. Inside, her mind was screaming at her to get away. The world was closing in on her. Her father knew, and he was like a hound with the scent of blood, he wasn't going to stop until he got what he was looking for from her. She was trapped. The frightened child inside her wanted to just tell him the truth, but she couldn't. And now she was desperate
“Now, will you please tell me what you took, and how much?” her father demanded. His tone was still relatively calm and gentle with her, but in Charlee's heightened state, all she could hear was aggression in it.
"I didn't!" she raised her voice. It was not a scream, but there was an edge of hysteria to her ragged tone. " I'm not lying. Why won't you believe me?" she begged, becoming tearful. She no longer knew the difference between what was a forced act in a desperate attempt to convince him, and what was her own panic.
"Please don't..." she said softly, looking up at him, eyes full of tears. It was an admission, of sorts. An admission that they both knew the truth, but she wouldn't speak it. It was plea for him to just leave it and not to stop her. She needed this, and she was begging him not to take it away.