That One Ride

Chapter 3: Truths to be told

Teresa's POV

It was 4 in the afternoon when I reached home after a long, tiring day at school. High school was no joke. Today we were going out, me and my mom. Yeah! Shopping with her was always a pleasure. I rotated the front door, which was always unlocked. Unusual. Had someone broke into the house?

I headed to my mother’s room, passing the kitchen and living room. Every step I climbed on stairs, I kept quiet to not alert anyone, if there is one. I reached her room, which was opened enough to peek through. It gave little to imagination but there were mild whispers coming from inside.

I tilted my head to place my ear on the door frame, to listen to what the voices were saying. One voice was sweet and melodious, no doubt it was mom. But who was that other one she was talking to? Husky and guttural voice of man. The room was dark, no shadow to be seen.

I banged the door open to look that it made a thud sound, making both of them snap their head at me. The muscular man looked furiously at my presence. He looked as if he was going to kill me; I dared catch my gaze with my mother. But she did not show any emotions, as if she didn’t care I was there. She did not flinch when the man grabbed my hair to push me downstairs.

Her eyes were cold red with rage, matching with the man. Who was he? I had never seen him around. Hell, I had never even seen it anywhere around this town.

I barked at him to leave me, as I struggled to free myself from his hold.

My balance loosed at the last stairs, making me fell on the floor, but the man didn’t seem a little bothered as he dragged me by the hair. I fluttered. I tried to get away from him. My eyes searched for my mother and father.

Tears fell down my cheeks as he dropped me near the sofa, my mother leaning on their kitchen counter, watching everything with a robotic face as if she wanted this. Fear build up in my core as the man pulled a knife from his pocket. I stepped back, only to be stopped by a soft body against my back. I looked back and my entire world stopped. A scream escaped my lungs as I looked at my dad’s motionless body laying behind me, with blood drooled all over the floor.

He killed dad; he was going to kill me. Worst was the fact that no one was saving me.

I woke up from the bed panting heavily and trying to process what’s real and what’s fake. It was a nightmare. As light sunrays beamed my face, I reminded myself that it was just a nightmare. My heart was still beating faster. It drenched my pillow in sweat. I had been reeking of fear and sweat and disgust. I gulped a full glass of water in one go, to calm my nerves down. It had been these nightmares since that day and nobody could help it. Not even my therapist. There was a part of my heart that can never, never forget those horrible memories, no matter how much I try to get away from them.

It had been years since she left everything and everyone;since she destroyed the perfect little world I had been living in. Since my mother killed my father. His death had been hard. I was young and figuring out my own life, left alone in this massive, cruel world to fight. I miss him every day, every splendid memory we had shared because bad ones are too bad to remember.

After taking enough time to collect myself, I looked at my phone. It was 8 in the morning and I pulled myself to take a cold, freezing shower. I was in no mood to rush things in the morning, certainly aware of our return tonight, as I took an hour long shower. My mind was still hazy with the nightmare, but I managed. Somehow. Like always.