𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒔

~3~

A/n:
[WARNING: this chapter contains physical and emotional abuse, as well as minor swearing and use of alcohol]
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Knock knock knock.

No answer.

I step back, waiting patiently in front of the dainty house. The stone tiles beneath me are cracked and I feel weeds brushing against my heels. A field of dandelions surrounds the house, suffocating it in a false, broken sense of joy.

I peer through the cracked, circular windows, wondering if my parents are even home since the car isn't even in the driveway.

I sigh in relief at the thought of them not being home. Thank goodness, I don't have to deal with them at all.

I walk around the house to our secret entrance-- the that's always unlocked. My parents don't know about it. I've always used it to sneak out of the house at night.

I crawl on my knees, moving a clump of tall grass out of the way.

Once I’m in my house, I am almost immediately deterred away. The scent of heavy alcohol hangs in the air, causing my airways to close. Each step I take out of the laundry room is harder and harder to breathe, until I enter the living room. Each room is dark, the walls covered in a freakishly dark red wallpaper. The windows are covered by a dark gray curtain that blocks out most of the light. In the living room are shattered brown bottles, scattered all over the stained carpet.

Also in the living room is what my parents think is a fancy yellow sofa and a lamp, but it’s all tattered and worn out. Anything that once had worth now has the scent of depression and beer.

It’s all my parents care about. Alcohol.

I tear up at the sight and turn my gaze away. I don't want to think about them right now.

I head down the small hall, trying to find any sense of fresh air. I can’t-- the wretched smell is everywhere I turn, and so are the memories.

The memories of them fighting, the memories of them screaming at each other, pushing one another against the wall, throwing bottles.

I scrunch my nose, rushing down the stairs to the basement, where my room lays, awaiting for me.

I trip on a step and I feel gravity pull me forwards, dragging me down sharp stone. I reach the bottom, my head pounding. I sit up and clutch my head, tears welling up in my eyes. Despite the pain, I get to my feet, wobbling over to the wall across from my bed.

Now I can’t sleep, the pain is so much.
I groan miserably to myself, slouching down against the cold, hard, gray wall. In this room was nothing but a tiny window and my bed, which wasn’t even a mattress at this point. Just a pile of old, crusty blankets that are half washed and a yellow-stained white pillow.

I bring my knees close to my chest, staring at the carpet-less floor. What am I going to do when they come home? How am I going to deal with them when they find out I got suspended?

A tear slips down my cheek. I shake my head at myself and bunch up my fists, digging them into my cheeks. I try to force the memories out of my head before they completely take over my emotions.

I notice the pain in my head again and sigh.

I put my hand to my head and feel a wet substance. I look at my hand and my eyes widen. I take a deep, trembling breath, then exhale, and stand to my feet. I rush to the bathroom on the other side of my room, swing open the creaky door, and frantically search through the cabinets. Hope fills my veins, hope that I could find something to stop the bleeding.