Bruises

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"She's a waste of space! Why did you keep her?!" My "dad" screams at my "mom". They fight all the time. My little sisters squirm in their sleep. They don't know what's going on. I don't let them know. It's all a secret. Or at least I try. Dad is picking a fight with Mom. His blaring voice tells me he's drunk, but screams at mom how much of a useless amount of atoms she is.

"ASHLEE!!!!!!!!!" He screeches in his loudest voice. I cringe. I don't want him to wake the little ones. I quietly leave the room and head to him.

"WHERE THE F*** HAVE YOU F*** BEEN?!" He bellows loudly.

I wince. His obnoxious voice is surely going to wake up the twins. They're too young to know what's going on...

"YOU STUPID LITTLE WASTE OF SPACE, I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR UGLY FACE AGAIN!"

I can feel an odd pressure building up in my chest but I'm not quite sure what it is. Yet I don't say anything. I've learned a great deal over the years. If I don't say anything and I don't cry, I won't get hit. He will eventually run out of steam, stomp to his room, and lock it for the night. Shortly after mom and her good friend jack Daniels will make its way out for the rest of the night... Or at least until she falls asleep.

My mom is by far easier to handle than my dad. She likes to drink to escape. Her and Jack Daniels are recently friends. Strangely enough I remember a time when she wasn't like that. She used to stick up for me. She used to protect me from the hits. But now, she might as well be the wallpaper. She sticks to her smelly old couch that's stained from countless nights of vomiting, the putrid smell permeating the thin walls. Right after the twins were born, she became really good friends with the tequila. But it was getting expensive and the only person whose drink mattered was His. So she bought enough jack for them both and they drunk the night away.

Dads thinning hair makes him look a million years old. His probably permanent blood shot eyes are set deep in his head and I can already tell he's running out of steam. It's only been about 5 minutes. His voice is wheezing and he's panting. I sigh. Only a couple more minutes. He keeps screaming but I block him out.

"God, please, please, please, let me out of this unscathed." I pray silently. I close my eyes for a second but this is a bad move. With my eyes closed, I don't see the punch my father gives me. My left eye immediately hurts on contact. I feel myself panic when I can't open it. I open my right eye. I look my blue eyes into the murky brown ones of my father. He's out of steam. Without another word, he turns on his heel and stomps out.

Mom is already at home with jack. No longer needed, I head upstairs. I clutch my silver cross on my necklace that hangs low in my shirt. It doesn't look new, in fact it looks worn with the edges not as sharp as they once were from all the rubbing I do to them. Some people bite their nails when they are nervous or scared or even anxious. I rub the cross and pray.

When my mom was little, she wore the same cross. She was a wild one. She got pregnant on accident. Well being the good Christian girl, she kept the baby and gave birth days after turning 18. Voila!! I was born. Dad was responsible back then, he stayed with her. He supported her. He bought a house, a car, worked two jobs and helped my mom get through school. My dad was of course 25 at the time. He was smart. Through with college, he was job seeking. They got married, we became a happy family.

Yet the end isn't there yet.

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Hey y'all, so this is a new idea I have. I would love some feedback! Please help me get better at writing! If something is wrong, or you have any ideas or suggestions as to where to go or what abuse is like, please let me know. Your thoughts and experiences can help make this a decent story!! If its bad then say so and I'll delete it! For now, some comments, votes, or fans would be nice!!! :D thank you so much! <3 Kinsie