A life full of pain

Where is Home

I was walking up to this old, shabby house. The light blue paint faded, and the broken wooden steps led to the front door. The house that was once full of joy and color now looks like a house of pain and sorrow. For what lies behind this door is nothing but pain.

Opening the front door, you can hear the theme song to a show my father watches. I don't know the name, but all I hope for is that he isn't up. I can't handle another beating. With my mother gone, all the anger that my father has is put onto me. I don't know why he took it out on me when it wasn't even my fault that he was angry. But anything to help him feel at peace will keep me happy. 

That's the one thing everyone in town knows me best: my kindness to people, no matter what someone does to me.  I slowly walk into the house; I can hear his loud snoring. I can use that to my advantage. Making sure I don't step on any of the squeaky wooden boards. 

"Yes," I whisper as I make it past the living room, where my father is passed out on the couch. I'm only halfway through the house the challenge is getting up the stairs to go to any room. These stairs will be the death of me one day if you step the wrong way, then the whole house can hear the loud squeak. I pray that when I go up the stairs, they don't squeak. I start going up the stairs when all I hear is, "Where the fuck have you been? Huh, you want to tell me? Cause I didn't pick you up today because I didn't want you to come home." My father yells. As I turn around slowly, I see my father holding his beer in his right hand, slumped over, leaning on the wall on his left side for support.

"I was with friends, and we were going to go to Sammy's, but something seemed off. So, they brought me home." I said with my head held down low. My father doesn't like it when I look him in the face. The last time I did that while he was drunk, it led me to being beaten and forced to sleep outside. I can't have that happen again because it's starting to get colder, and I can't get sick and miss any more school. I missed a lot because of the beatings I received at the year's start. "Whatever, I don't wanna see you for the rest of the night. You're not eating, understand? Stay in your room. I'm going to have some people over, and I don't want them to be repulsed by you." My father said with nothing but venom in his voice. "I understand, father." Turning, I slowly make my way up the stairs to my room. 

Opening my room door, I'm met with the faded forest-green paint peeling off the walls to my bleach-stained black currants. My room was once a vibrate forest themed, my bed sheets an emerald green with flowers all over it, my dark oak wooden desk, and a single picture of me and my bother on it. My matching bureau was filled with clothes and all my perfume on top. My closet was filled with my art supplies and a treasure box with my poems.  

Pulling out my chair and sitting in front of my desk. I grab a piece of paper with my red pen; I begin to write: 

I'm alive

It's a lie

I wake up each day

Put on this mask

Smile at faces

Laugh on cue

But inside

Im breaking through

The world sees strength.

A strong facade

But they don't see

The battles fought

The quiet wars

Behind closed doors

Where every breath

Feels like a chore

Im alive

But it is a lie

Living in pieces

Trying to survive

(A/N this is not my poem; all credits go to @tics.poetry on instagram)

As I finish writing the poem, I hear a knock on my door. "Who is it?" I turn to face my door, confused as to who might be knocking on my door. Whenever my father has people over, he makes sure that no one ever comes upstairs. The door slowly opened; I met with a small child. She's small and has long blonde hair with dark emerald-green eyes. Her small figure looks even smaller in the oversized shirt she is wearing, which is acting like a dress. 

"Hi, what's your name?" She whispered, looking down shyly. "My name is Emily, what is your name, sweetie?" Looking over at her, you could tell that she was nervous and shy. "Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lizzy."

"That is a beautiful name, Lizzy. But may I ask what you are doing up here?" Looking at her, she looks familiar, but I'm not sure from where. "I was told I could explore the house while our parents and my brother were talking. And then I heard noise from in here, so I knocked, and I came in. Did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not. I was just curious: no one comes up here. It's good to have a friend, though, wouldn't you say." Picking her up and walking out my door. "Yes. Are you my friend now?" her face lighting up with excitement. But I can't help but wonder who her brother must be. "Emily, why do you think our parents are talking?" looking down at Lizzy in my arms, I couldn't help but wonder if one day I could be a mother. "I'm not sure, but we're gonna find out soon. But in the meantime, would you like to eat something?" 

"Yes, please," smiling ear to ear as her face brightens up. There is nothing better in the world than to make someone smile, especially little kids. As I finish making my way downstairs, my father and Lizzy's parents walk into the hallway. "Father, I'm sorry to bother you, but is there something in particular that you would like for dinner?" I started shaking while holding Lizzy, scared to hurt her from all my shaking I placed her down on the ground, waiting for my father's response.

"Yes, make the steak that I bought with some sides and a dessert for our guest." looking over to Lizzy's parents, he speaks again, "This is my daughter Emily." looking back over to me, he continues, "This is Mr. and Mrs. VanDort, and their son Victor."

"Hello, nice to meet you all. Is there any particular way you like your steak cooked?" I started to freak out, you mean to tell me the hottest boy in our school is here and talking with my father. "We prefer to have our steaks cooked medium rare." Mr. VanDort said to me. 

I turned to walk into the kitchen when I suddenly fell after hitting this wall. Looking up, I'm met with a  6'8, muscular wall. With these gorgeous hazel eyes looking down at me with this blank face. "Well, are you going to apologize or at least stop staring at me," Victor said, snapping me back to reality, "Y-yes, I'm s-sorry I d-didn't see you there. I-I'll pay m-more attention n-next time." Studdering the whole time while I got up. When I realized he was looking at me with discussion, walking by him, I started to prepare dinner.