I walk home as slowly as a can and hope that she stops waiting and forgets about me but it is not true I know that she is still waiting for me in her favorite chair in the kitchen with her whip in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Isabel is always getting drunk and taking drugs. I wish there was some part of her that actually liked kids and treated them with care and compassion but I know that she has no heart for kids or anyone at all. I don't hate her but I don't particularly like her either. I feel bad for her.
I get home and there she is in the kitchen waiting for me."Where have you been?" she says angrily. "Do you know what time it is?"
" I was getting groceries" I say in a low voice.
"You did something else,too" she says. She doesn't know about my monthly visits to see Jake. This is the first time I screwed up on coming home on time.
" I did nothing" , it sounded almost like a whisper.
She gives me the look that makes me want to cry but I don't cry because I have gotten used to the look. I have learned to be strong whenever she beat me or gave me the look.
"I will ask you one more final time. WHAT ELSE DID YOU DO BESIDES GROCERY SHOPPING? she yelled.
I don't say anything even though there are so many things I want to say to her. I wanted to tell her that she was an evil bitch. That she didn't deserve to be a alive but nothing came out of my mouth. It was like I was trying to speak but there was nothing coming out of my mouth because there was invisible duck tape on mouth blocking all the words that I want to say to her.
She then started to beat me. once. twice. three times. It hurts so bad. I want to tell her to stop but then she will beat me more and more until she is satisfied. I'm not going to cry.I'm not going to cry,I think to myself. I have to be strong but suddenly she strikes a hit that hurts me so bad my eyes fill with tears. She has no sympathy for me. She starts to strike harder and harder. The harder she strikes, the weaker I get. She strikes until her hand is weak.
I run away to my room. I close and lock the door.I look at my locket that says hope on it. There is a picture of my parents in it. I miss them so much. I wish they were here with me right now. My mom would be singing to me in her calm and soothing voice and my dad would be brushing my hair away from my face. When I think about them, I start to cry harder and harder and sink into my own tears.
