Changing Directions

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I sat in my room a few days later strumming the guitar Emma had given me. We haven't spoken after I found out that her step dad had killed the rest of my family. She had called me and texted me only about a hundred times, but I didn't open a single one. I didn't read a single one, either. I'm not mad at her, it's just I don't want to be around anyone. Not yet, anyway. I know eventually I'm going to have to talk to her-she's my girlfriend and I still love her- but for now I think I'll enjoy the quietness of my room.

Speaking of the quiet; why is it so quiet? My house is never quiet, especially with all the parties my older drunken brother throws. The place always reeks of alcohol, that I was used to. But the quietness and emptiness? That was weird.

When I came home Christmas night after visiting my family's graves, I made the horrible choice to tell him how they died. His reaction wasn't pretty.

He ran after me. He pushed me to the floor and started to punch and kick me. He clawed at my face and spat on me. He sat on top of me and started to punch my face, but I stopped him. I stopped him with the only way I could. I hit him back.

Dazed, he got off me and just looked at me. I quickly apologized over and over but did he listen? Of course he did because he's just the best brother ever and would never hurt a single hair on my head! Ha wrong.

He continued to hit and punch me and I let him. I figured he needed to get his anger out and better on me than on an innocent person off the street.

When he was finally done, he leaned against the wall and looked at me, broken. Instead if helping me up, he just stared at me like I was a worthless rat in a sewer. Finally, he asked me if what I said was true and I was scared to say yes. But of course I did anyway.

He raised his hands as if to hurt me some more and I braced myself for impact. But instead, he just grabbed the nearest bottle of who knows what and sulked off to his room-slamming the door behind him.

I lay there, bruised, bloody, and broken, not letting a single tear fall. I was used to his abusiveness and his random blows. This was nothing. So I did what I normally did; I took some deep breaths and slowly got up from the floor. Then, I grabbed my guitar that he had throw across the room-it was still in one piece- and slowly walked down the hall to my room. I winced with every step but I didn't care-the pain meant I was still alive and that was all I needed.

This morning, I woke up with a dreadful headache and when I looked in the mirror, my eyes were fine, but the scratched were obvious on my arm and the bruises on my chest made it hard to breathe. When I stretch up to pop my back, I start to shake from the pain in my ribs. Thanks a lot, Loving brother of mine.

So now here I am just sitting here, listening. The emptiness I am feeling is really getting to me, so I just get up from my comfy spot on the dirty carpet and open my door. I peek my head out like they do in those spy movies, very sneakily. I look to the left, no brother. To the right, still no sign of him. After stepping out if my room, I have to squint at the almost blinding light from the window. I had pulled the shades in my room and I didn't use the light for days.

I ran to the kitchen and find it surprisingly clean. Then I sniff. The small apartment didn't reek of booze. It actually smelled...nice. Wait, is that...Emma?

My girlfriend was sitting, legs crossed, on the stained couch. She was studying me with a confused look on her face. Her eyes were shiny and her nose was red. Was she crying? I stop in my tracks and look back at her. She kept playing with her bracelets with her thumb and she was crying; the tears started to fall in the couch.

I went and sat by her, butterflies filling my stomach. I took her hand and started to rub it in between mine. I heard her gasp and I knew I was comforting her.