Mom came home drunk again, simply kicked off her shoes and laid back only to be awaken again by the urge to throw up. Silently I get up from my warm bed, my safe haven, I walk throughout the house to make sure she left everything right. She left the door to our apartment with just one little push left to close it.
I can feel the cold tip of the gun against my flushed already beading skin, the contrast in temperature is so achingly visible you can basically see the steam come off my body, the goosebumps pop up in fear while my stomach gets theses horrible ache like someone just shoved their hands in and are constantly twisting and turning my insides. It hurts, so much. I don't have time to think, no time to register what's going on. I can only hear the faint sounds coming from the man's mouth
"Someone better get the fuck out of bed before I just kill you." The venom in his voice, I can almost feel it splash on my face as he spits. I can't speak I know I can't and I've never been more afraid of that more in my entire life.
He pulls on my arm roughly, I can tell he's not enjoying my silence, he wants a show. At this point just take the gun and shoot me. I wanted to say, but when my mom rushes out looking like a complete mess, still having some vomit in her hair, I knew I couldn't.
She's yelling who knows what, my hands are trembling. It's like I can see and hear but my sight is blurred and the sounds feel like it's so distant. The only thing I feel near and clear is that gun.
