the cold, bright moon lit the way down the snow-covered road, my feet dragging through the thick layers of shaved ice, 5-year-old converse barely protecting my numb toes.
my dollar-store earbuds plugged into my ears blaring 'all i want - kodaline' through my century-old ipod touch as i scan my surroundings for a safe place to rest for the night.
a stray tear drifts down my face, the constant cold reminding me of the event 17 months ago that led to this point. the event that led to me living in and out of shelters at the age of 16.
*
"FUCK YOU!" i yell, my brain foggy as i rush over to my mother, passed out on the floor, blood flowing from a head wound my father had caused previously.
"mom! mom wake up" i cry, worried about her. her breathing was shallow, almost unrecognisable. her face was beaten to a pulp, blood gushing from places where it shouldn't be.
"mommy, please!" i lean against her chest. i couldn't call the police, he took my phone. and the door was locked, so hopefully the neighbours to our apartment complex will hear my cries.
he hit us often, blaming us for the 'sad, lonely life' he lived. he changed after the death of my grandmother, he was the best father i could have asked for up until the point where the cancer took her life, almost 2 years ago now.
"mom.. can you hear me?" i cry to her softly, pushing the hair out of her face and looking up at my father, slanting back and forth in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, watching tv as if nothing has happened.
"YOURE A MONSTER!" i scream, salty tears falling into my mouth as i let out earth-shattering sobs.
what if she dies?
"get out." he says casually, bringing his cup of coffee to his lips and taking a sip.
"no, i'm not leaving mom." i sternly reply, and he stands up out of his seat, calmly placing his coffee on the mahogany side table.
"but- she needs me, frank" i whimper, looking back and forth between my father and my mother.
he stalks towards me, picking me up by my hair as i yelp. "let go of me, please!"
he drags me to the front door only inches away, throwing me onto the porch and throwing my school backpack on top of me, i whimper in pain, the heavy books crushing my rib.
"luka, don't come back. i will kill you if you do." he growls, slamming and locking the door behind him.
*
a gentle sob wracked through my body as my mind took me back to that day, again. my own father, the man who raised me, turned into a monster. and i can't help but think it was my doing.
mom always told me that before i was born they had a cliché, stereotypical romance, and it was perfect. she told me although she was so happy to have me, it took a huge toll on their relationship, and they were never the same since.
christmas was just around the corner, and i've been dreading it. the cold just got colder during this time of the year, to think christmas used to be my favourite time of the year.
i will miss putting up the christmas tree, singing with mom around the fire with hot cocoa, and i'll also miss my eighteenth birthday. the special birthday that shows that i'm an adult, that it's too late for me to get help.
i'd been putting off going to a children's home since i was forced to leave my home. growing up, i'd heard the stories of the bad things that happen within them, and it's scared me off. it had been tempting on the cold, lonely nights with nothing but crumbs to eat, but not tempting enough.
my stomach growls as the scent of cookies wafts through an open window to a small, terraced house on the dimly-lit street, the smell making me weak at the knees.
it had been 4 days since i'd last found something to eat, and the last thing i had eaten was 3 stale biscuits found in the bottom of a packet on the park bench i'd been sleeping on.
i look to my right again, realising i had stopped in my tracks after smelling the cookies. i look to the front porch of the house, and decided that's where i'd sleep for the night.
i'd be gone by the time the residents awoke.
*
i hum in delight as i pull the food from the oven, the scent of the m&m cookies greeting my nose.
i put them on the cooling rack, satisfied as the 25 home-made cookies sit cooling.
i know i made too much for just me, but i'll share some with my dog, of course.
"malakai" i call, the australian shepherd dog's nails scraping against the laminate flooring as he runs to my side, barking at me.
"cookie?" i gasp, a smile on my face as he sits, barking once more at my excitement. i throw the cookie in which he catches and eats whole, coming back for more.
"no more just yet, baby, they're bad for you" i sing, booping the obedient dogs nose and going back to what i was doing.
i ruffle my curls and look out at the stormy weather, lightening definitely approaching.
malakai's bark disrupts my thinking, to which i respond "woah, mali, calm down" he runs to the front door, indicating what he needs from me, to go potty.
i follow the large dog through the hallway, ruffling my curls again awaiting the impending cold weather that will greet me when i open the door. turning the lock, i pull the handle and the dog races past me and into the front yard.
i shiver as i walk back in to wait for the pup, but a yelp stops me in my tracks.
