Meet me at 1 AM

Chapter 1

I was putting away the dirty dishes when my father stormed into our filthy kitchen. He had gambled away his money again, I could see that in his eyes. Where my mother was, I did not know. I did not want to know.

"How about contributing something to the family for once? Starting today, you'll pay money for the comforts that I and your mother provide." Comforts? Did I hear that right? This dump could not be considered comfortable by any stretch of the imagination. Besides, there was hardly ever any food at home. All they offered was a roof over my head for the few hours I was here.

"I don't have any money," I lied. I worked here and there as a temp but most of my money came from stealing. Not that it was enough to ever pay for anything decent. But it was enough for the bare necessities. 

He took a step closer and I heard the loose floorboards creak beneath him. The mere sound gave me goosebumps. He stopped behind me while I dried the dishes. The pungent smell of alcohol and sweat hit my nose and I almost gagged.

"I very much believe you have money. At least you had it in your room this morning." I stiffened. How did he know where I had hidden my money? It was the most creative hiding place I had ever found. All my work was for nothing. If I could feel anything, I might even burst into tears. But now...nothing.

"Obviously, now I have less money than ever since you gambled it all away. Get a job," I replied dryly. 

I heard him snort behind me. Suddenly everything happened so fast. He grabbed me by the hair and clasped it in his fist. Before I could react, he slammed my face against the hard countertop. I had no strength to scream and no urge to beg him to stop. Instead, I let it wash over me.

He repeated this one more time. Something buzzed in my ear and my head throbbed like crazy, but I hardly noticed the pain. A laceration. Finally, he pushed me away so that I stumbled and fell to the ground. I felt dizzy and it was almost as if I was seeing stars. 

"One day you'll drive me into my grave, you ungrateful brat," he spat back at me and left the room. He had a good day today, I thought to myself mockingly and got up.

I wiped my forehead. My fingers were bloody from the cut on my temple. Hopefully, there wouldn't be a scar. And if it did? As if it made any difference. 

Pitying yourself won't get you anywhere, you're pathetic, I told myself over and over. That was the only way to stay strong. 

Before I was about to disappear into my room, the door opened again. With a weary expression, my mother came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. When she saw the smeared blood, she shook her head and glared at me in annoyance.

"Why did you provoke him again?" was the only thing she said before turning away and looking out the window to the streets. 

I had long since given up trying to explain to her that I had done nothing wrong. She had called me crazy over and over again, and for a while, I thought I was. 

He had beaten me many times in front of her, had kicked until she looked away. No pleading, no demands to spare me. I was a child. Now I am an adult and see things differently. She was a coward, had thrown me under the bus so he wouldn't turn his anger towards her.

Without another word, I left her, grabbed my jacket and phone and disappeared into the dark night. I didn't care.

***

The moon shone over me as I walked down the narrow alleys to reach my usual place in the park. The stars were unusually bright today and I breathed in the crisp midnight air.