By Mistake

Chapter 5 - Hot and Cold.

Cassie Huwit

Tears roll off my face. I went straight home and called Alice; she showed twenty minutes later with a bottle of vodka. I don't know why I'm crying, I just am.

Sam makes me feel powerless, so weak and flustered that I can't use my head and I hate it. Alice let me lie on her lap while my tears rolled down my face, I was stuck in my head; replaying the days events.

I can't handle how hot and cold Sam is with me. When it's hot, he is so kind and soft towards me then he is cold and aloof, it's harsh remarks or the cold shoulder. It reminds me too much of him.

"Are you ready to talk about him yet?" Am I? Alice doesn't know much about my childhood or my parents; just that I get scared easy, often flinching at the smallest stuff. Inhaling the oxygen around me, taking my time to stop my sobs. I sit up but I don't face Alice. One last breath before heading back into the shadowy depths of my memories.

To a child who knows no better than it's environment, yelling, punching and pain is all too normal. My mother did nothing to stop what was happening but didn't hesitant to become the victim of a crime that didn't target her.

My late father was a average man, build and type; he wasn't strong enough to hold up a car but enough to hurt a kid. The way my life went was quiet but loud at the same time, a breath taken in and out, barely making a sound. A crack was heard more than my cries but nothing was done, no change was made. My father took his anger out on me and my mother encouraged him; teachers took my bruises as clumsiness.

A sparrow in a tree can fly high and search low; it has freedom to roam as noisy or silent as it wishes. A sparrow can be beautiful whether it is scarred or not; mentally, physically. The markings of the bird make it more unique, more catching to the eye. The bird flaunts its ability to move away from the fat cats, laughing as it flies.

To capture the beauty of the creature is to take its freedom, its meaning of life.

It wasn't until I saw other girls with their parents, laughing and playing. Being told to be careful when you run, 'I love you', and held when you cry because you hurt your knee falling off your bike. No, no, I heard run because when I catch you; you'll wish you ran faster, 'I hate you', and "Shut up. You whine about nothing."

Parents kiss your sores better, not create them. Parents are happy you're alive, not full of regret.

My tear nearly choke me.

"Oh Cassie." Alice had pity in her eyes along with tears of her own.    I hate pity.      Alice just held me, whispering that she never knew, that she's sorry.

"Did Sam hit you?!" I look at her, brows furrowed, God it does sound like that, doesn't it. "No, my father was horrible to me and I was used to it, the pain, the hurtful words but what hurt the most, scared me the most, was when he hugged me or asked if I was ok." You could see the dots connecting in front of Alice's eyes.

"Hot and cold." I nodded, Alice poured two more drinks, one for her and the other for me; we sat in comfortable silence. Alice is the only person I've ever told my story too.

Alice and I fell asleep curled up next to each other on the couch. I guess talking about it brought it all back full speed because I was shaken awake by Alice.

"Cassie, it's a nightmare, c'mon you're scaring me, wake up Cassie." My eyes widened and shut as the overhead light was too much to bare.

2.51am.

"God I'm so sorry Ally." Alice isn't the overly physically affectionate type so I was stunned when she hugged me - tight. She told me I can go to my bed, give her more room on the couch so I slugged my way and crawled on top of my cold, crisp bed. Eyes shut and the day faded into the past.