The Loner

Chapter 6: Hell-

Unlocking the front door to our crappy home I was dreading it. I swung the door open, I accidentally pushed it too hard and it hit the back of the wall. I prayed nobody heard me, but I was absolutely wrong. My father came in the living room, stumbling over his own feet. He looked absolutely disgusting, shirt covered in vomit, hair frumpy and greasy, he looked terrible, like always. "What are you doing here so late?!" He said slurring over each words it slipped out of his mouth.

"I..I.. I was working, at the library." I quietly said, trying not to add any emotion to what I was saying.

"We'll you're home way too late. Your mother was worried sick." I strained to hear his exact words.

"I'll be off then dad. I'm just gonna grab something to eat, then I'll be in my room not making a sound."

He looked at me and gave me an odd looking smirk. BAM! His fist shot out a hit me right in the jaw. I stumbled back in shock.

"What do you think you are doing missy? You've disobeyed everything I've taught you." I honestly didn't know what to say. I gagged at the stench of whiskey and whatever other beverages he had consumed that day and night. I grabbed my jaw in pain and ran to my room. While on my way I passed my mothers room. She was injecting stuff into her arms again. I looked straight at her, unhappy and disappointed. When she looked up I saw sorrow on her face. I knew she felt bad with the stuff she had been doing to herself all her life, but it was all her choice.

I walked into my room, the only normal place in my house. I had it so organized and nice looking, it looked like it didn't even belong in my house. I had worked hard to make something happy in my life. My walls were painted purple and covered in glitter. I did it myself. The few possessions that I admired hung on a shelf I made in wood shop freshman year. Sitting in the corner was my bed. Nothing fancy at all, just a purple comforter and purple pillows. But I loved sleeping, so that was my favorite aspect of my room.

I sat down at my tiny desk and started doing my homework. Through the middle of my biology homework I heard really loud banging and screams. I jumped to action and ran out into the hallway, listening to where the sounds were coming from. I quickly glanced from room to room and spotted them in the kitchen.

My father had my mom cornered, fist raised, her face bleeding. He smacked and punched her face so many times, I couldn't take it anymore. Even though my mother did terrible things, I still loved her. Stepping between my father and her my heart was racing. I got hit a lot, but not nearly as bad as my mother. Eventually I got knocked to the ground hard, and he still kept beating. It hurt, but I held it all in. Hit after hit I felt he grew more tired. After a long time he quit. Sweat poured off his unshaven face. I was numb all over my body. He just got up and left. After I saw that he had left the room, probably going to throw up, I went over to my mother. Her wounds had stopped bleeding. She looked terrible.

Carefully I raised a warm washcloth to her face. Rubbing very carefully, I tried removing as much blood a possible. She whimpered a few times, but after a while I got most of it off. She walked off, exhausted and crashed out on our couch. I covered her up with a random quilt. I felt so bad for her, with the wrong man, abused for life.

After the incident in the kitchen I needed to clean myself up. I hopped in the shower, careful not to hurt my bruises, now swelling up tremendously. When I stepped out I noticed the bruises covering my body. But worse, my face. I didn't want people asking what was wrong with my face. I was worried. What was I supposed to do about them anyways? I just decided to forget about them.

Climbing in bed, I felt a huge wave of relieve rush over my entire body. I snuggled in deeper into my blankets, feeling the only comfort I'd ever had.