the voice in my head

Part 1

It's November, and the sun has long set. The lights in our house are dim, casting shadows across the walls. A chill breeze slips in through a cracked window, cutting through my wool sweater as if it weren't there. The cold pricks the hair on my arms, goosebumps rising along my legs, my toes curling inward as I tuck my hands deep into my sleeves, clinging to any bit of warmth I can find.

But now, all I can do is curl up tighter, bracing myself as best I can. My arms wrap around my midsection, desperate to shield my stomach from the next blow. My dad's hands hold me down, unyielding, pressing me against the cold floor. My mom stands over me, her shouts piercing through the dim room as her foot connects again with my side, a jolt of pain rippling through my body with each kick.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, her kicks slow, then stop. My dad's grip loosens, his hands lifting off me. I stay frozen, my breath ragged, too shaken to move, but after a moment, I force myself to look up. My mother stands there, breathing hard, her face twisted in a way I've never seen before.

In her eyes, I search for some remnant of the woman I know—someone loving, someone safe. But what I see staring back isn't a mother hiding behind a monster. There, in the dim light, I see only the monster itself, raw and unmasked, its cold gaze fixed on me.

Since that night, whatever softness my mother once had was gone. She'd never been gentle, never truly kind, but sometimes there had been moments—a brief smile, a rare word of comfort—where she'd tried, or at least pretended to. As I grew older, though, she seemed to see herself in me, a ruthless mirror reflecting all she tried to bury. And in that reflection, it was as if the parts of her that had once reached for warmth began to crumble, to disappear like ashes in the wind. Now, even those glimpses of softness were lost, it was as if God, in His mercy, sent an angel to lift her spirit to heaven and, in her place, the devil sent his right-hand man to dwell in our home. Though I still saw her face every day, I knew the mother I'd once known was gone, scattered to nothing.