Dear Diary

Poppy

Dear Diary,

Here's what happened today. Also, trigger warning for child abuse and violence.

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I take her surprise as an opportunity to leave, and I shove past her, making sure to be as rude as possible. She had the audacity to act all sweet and loving after that psycho display earlier, and after all the shit I went through last night, I don't have the patience to take fake trash from someone who clearly doesn't care about me.

I take my hands out of my pockets and the second I'm out of her sight, I book it to my room. I lock my door and make sure not to cry. I know she'll be banging on my door soon enough, and I can't have her see me break. I will not give her the satisfaction.

I untuck my shirt and crack my knuckles. I know I'll have to clean blood stains out of the carpet later. I want to cower away and hide, but this time I can't. Nothing can save me this time.

The locked doorknob turning and failing to open takes me out of my trance. No time to be scared, this is it. "Ellis, open this door now." No screaming? I should just call the funeral service right now. "I'm sorry, I took things too far earlier." She's lying. I'm not opening the door. There's no point in fighting it, and I hear her put a key in the lock.

I back away just as the door slams open, definitely making a dent in the wall. She grabs a textbook off my dresser and throws it at me right before grabbing something else. That's a vase, does she know that's glass? The book hits me in the stomach, and I hear the glass shatter before I feel the shards impale my legs. Now everything in my body is on fire.

I look up at her, expecting to see even just an ounce of regret, but I see nothing. So I show her nothing back. Despite the wounds sending pain up my body with every breath I take, I glare at her with as much hate as I can form.

Through the haze that is my anger and pain, I see her make her way over to me. She grabs my hair with an iron grip and practically throws me onto my bed. I try not to make a sound, which just ends up coming out as some weird, strangled yelp. My lungs only let my breath come out in these shallow sheets, making this not any easier for me.

She grabs my shirt and yanks me up, towards her. "You really think you can do whatever you want, huh? Well guess what? I put you into this world, I can just as easily take you out of it." That smug grin will not last long.

After this, she might actually kill me. "How? You can't unfuck dad." Wow! I can already hear the funeral services digging out my grave. Her eyes lit up, and not in a good way.

She let go of my shirt, and just as I thought I was safe, the back of her hand kindly met my face very forcefully. I felt the warm blood stream down my face, not positive where it was coming from based on the fact that my entire face felt that impact.

"Who the fuck taught you that language!? It sure as hell wasn't me!" Hm, ironic. I wipe the blood from my chin, but find that the source was from a now rather large gash on the bridge of my nose. I have a bad habit of just licking my wounds if I don't have something to clean it with, so I lick the red, metallic liquid off my fingers without much thought. Usually she would make a face and say something about it, but she was still too mad about earlier to mention it. "I did not teach you to talk back to me, and especially not with that foul language." She was only right about one of those claims, but okay, go off I guess.

I stand up and make my way over to my vanity and open one of the drawers. She continues to scream and yell, and scream some more, so I tune it out as I look for my packet of bandaids for later. "Sorry, mom." I mutter absent-mindedly as I close the drawer.