Broken

Prologue

"You're an insensitive asshole, I can't believe I was married to you for 12 years! I hope you fucking die!" That was the sound of what I hear pretty much every night. My parents are going through a divorce and it's taking longer than either of them expected, so they argue constantly. We all still live together in the same house because, according to my mother, my dad's a lousy deadbeat that can't be bothered to get off of his ass and go get a job. I usually spent most of my time in my room to avoid it, I usually just got thrown into the middle of the fight if I showed my face around them too often. They tend to use me as a weapon toward each other, saying things like it's my mom's fault for doing a shitty job of raising me for the way I turned out to be, or it's my dad's fault that I don't have friends or never leave the house just because he's an asshole. Their fights rarely make sense, but it all hurts the same in the end. I was currently in my room, on my bed attempting to sleep considering it was 2 AM, with a pillow held over my head in an attempt to drown out the yelling. This was an every night occurrence and honestly I didn't know how much more of it I could take.

I threw the door open to my shitty, little apartment and strolled inside partly buzzed, before shutting the door behind me and making my way over to the kitchen. I opened the fridge door, clinging to it tightly to try and steady myself and looked through my pathetically stocked food. I had a carton of milk, a jar of pickles, and turkey sandwich meat in there all together. I sighed to myself and shut the door, deciding to call it a night. I made my way to my room, stopping once at the bathroom to throw up most of the alcohol I had consumed tonight, and then I pulled my shirt over my head and off my body before throwing it onto the dirty floor. I flicked the light switch off and walked over to my bed. I sat down on the edge of my bed before slowly getting my body under the covers and my head all situated on my pillow. I laid there for a while thinking over my current situations and the reasons as to why I got drunk tonight and many other nights in the first place, as I do quite often. I lived alone, which wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't a 17 year old boy still in high school. I ended this way because my mom died from cancer when I was about three and by the time I was fifteen my dad had found this whore, who was way younger than him, and ran off with her leaving me to fend for myself. I obviously didn't have enough money for the house I was in then, so I had to go out, get a job and get myself this little shithole and just try to survive my life day to day. Honestly, it doesn't feel like living anymore, I'm just existing and I don't know if I could do that much longer.