Ties In The Torn World

The Accident

backstory

TW for the entire story: death, gore, swearing, nsfw, drug use etc. 

(info: 7×1 never happened) 

no copywrite please! been through it and it is absolutely not a pretty process

"June!" I could hear my mom's shrill scream even through my earbuds. I ripped them off and before I could even answer, my eyes darted to the window where a huge white semi-truck was nearing our range rover. 

my eyes widened, I screamed but I doubt anyone could hear, especially over the loud honking of the truck, over the squealing breaks, over the crashing of the range rover hitting a wall and crushing the entire front part of our car.

we were headed to Atlanta, my grandparents lived there and invited us over for thanksgiving, I had been so exited to hug my grandma, to arm wrestle my grandpa even though he always let me win, to squeal in disgust as their dog covered my face in slobber. 

it had been so quiet, so quiet when the honking stopped. I could softly hear the sound of the cartoon I had been watching. that's when I heard a sound over the animated characters. 

Drip... drip... drip...

it hurt to move my neck, my eyes fell to a dark puddle, pooling on the floor of the car and dripping of of the passenger seat. I looked up, my mom, the entire left side of her face was bloody, her neck bent in a way I'm sure no alive person could imitate it. 

"m-mommy?" I whispered softly.

no reply.

"mommy" I said louder. her eyes didn't flutter, her lips didn't move, she didn't make any noise. my ears suddenly popped painfully and I let out a cry as I tried to sit up. I looked at my legs, I couldn't see my light up shoes. a metal pole was covering my vision. I looked lower, the cool silver of the pole was bloody, my eyes teared up as I realized.

it was my blood.

my head started to hurt and my vision was getting blurry. I heard sirens, I saw flashing lights, bright colors of blue and red. deep booming voices yelling over each other and the shuffling of feet was the last thing I saw before my vision went black. 

I woke up a total of seven times in the ambulance to people trying to get me to stay awake. beeping noises, the stench of artificial rubber latex gloves, and people hovering over me with their masked faces is the last thing I remember from my trip in the ambulance. 

it took a total of three, nine hour surgeries to get me to even wake up. I wasn't sure I wanted to. now that I think about it, it might have been better if I hadn't woken up. 

I regained my strength and ability to walk in under a month. my injury hadn't been very bad, and I was one hell of a tough kid. the only thing that I carry as a reminder of that day is a huge gash across my back. A nasty scar that wont ever go away. I have one on my stomach too, not as bad. 

its easier to forget things you don't want to remember when you don't have a permanent reminder of it stuck on your body. 

my father didn't deal with the grief in the best way, in fact he didn't even feel like my father after my mom died. I'd done everything I could to help him, to make him happy, to get him to look at me in the way he did before. the look of fatherly love, the look of protection, the look that made me feel secure he would die for me like every father should. 

I finally understood why he didn't look at me, I had my mothers eyes, her smile, the exact shade of hair as her and generally I looked like a younger clone of her. he didn't ever dare to look me in the eyes. 

he  had gotten addicted to the make believe world of drugs. it started off as marijuana, leveled up to cocaine, meth, and it got so bad he overdosed of fentanyl. I hated to say it, but when he was dying, I loved it. 

not in the way that I wanted my father dead, but in the way that was the first time in a year he finally looked me in the eyes. 

he survived, thankfully, but I got taken away from him and put into a orphanage. why not a foster home? I couldn't tell you, but my life wasn't the best there. 

Madam Toolsey, a French name I suppose. she was the head lady of the orphanage, and she just loved to crush kids spirits. I was an adventurous kid, she hated that. I was outgoing, she hated that. I was a kid who loved to crack jokes, she hated that too. no matter what I did, she always made sure to send me back to my room with either burnt hands or bruised body. 

I didn't hear from my father the entire time I was at the orphanage, my grandparents couldn't take care of me at all in the financial sense and the government wasn't up to giving them the money and support to. 

I think I tried to run away a total of eleven times to find my father during my time there, each time the pain I got sent to my room with got worse. 

eleven times I failed, eleven times I got sent back to my room with another painful and sleepless night ahead of me, eleven times I tried again.

until that one night, it was going to be my twelfth time attempting to escape.            

I promise I'm getting to current time soon, bear with me, backstory is so so so so so important! Love yall xoxo