The Runaway

The Runaway

 Chapter 1 

If there is one place in this world where we can feel safe. A place in which any anxiety we may feel is immediately soothed. A place in which we give and receive unconditional love. It would be in the arms of those closest to us. For a child, that safe haven lies within the embrace of two loving parents.

  But what if that family didn't provide that comfort? What if your family consisted of an alcoholic mother and a new substitute Dad every few months?

 You would hate it. Dread the thought of going home everyday - not knowing what new man would be passed out on the ratty old leather sofa. 

  My Mother was often beaten and knocked around. Running from one violent relationship to the next, had been her life since her early teens. I was the result of one particularly fiery relationship she'd had some 13 years before. Dad and Mum had both young and rebellious. A combination of drugs, booze and a flying frying pan led to Dad walking out on us. 

I was three years old when he left. All I could remember of him was his smile. It was wide and toothy and reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice and Wonderland. How fitting. Just like the cat in the film,  Dad disappeared from view leaving only an image of a smile. Just when I needed him most.

 The small age gap between me and Mum meant that she often passed me of as her younger sister. She didn't want to 'put of any decent men', by telling them she had a daughter.

 I too on many occasions became a punching bag for her countless lovers. Once I even broke my arm when one man - Richard- threw me down the stairs in a drunken rage.

  I got used to the violence; actually came to expect it. But the summer I turned sixteen. Things took a sinister turn.

  Mum had recently gotten herself a new boyfriend. Her partners changed on a monthly, sometimes weekly basis. Most of them were lazy, violent drunkards. But this one was different.

  At first glance, he was well dressed, with an easy smile. He seemed nice enough and at first we got along. But a few weeks into their relationship...he started paying me a little too much attention.

 It started of as a pat on the leg. Then a compliment about how pretty I was. But one night he crept into my room and I awoke to his leering face beside me in the bed.

 Before I knew it, he was reaching a grubby hand underneath my nightgown; I was so scared.

   Mum was passed out drunk in the next room like always. Even if I screamed, I doubted she would hear me. 

   His fingers inched further upwards, his skin hot and slick with sweat. I could smell the acrid stench of his breath at my ear.  Looking franticalIy round my room, I spotted my baseball bat. It had fallen down from on top of the dresser and now lay just inches from the bed.

   Without hesitation, I snatched it up and clubbed the bastard over the head. I had a good swing and I managed to knock him unconscious. Not bothering to give the creep a second glance, I threw my few posessions into a bag and got the hell out of there. I hadn't even thought to say goodbye to the lousy excuse for a mother I had put up with for so long.

  Once outside I began walking with determined steps; relieved that I hadn't lost to that sick creep. I soon realised that I had nowhere to go and collapsed to the ground sobbing. Curtains twitched in windows but no one came to save me.

  All the pent up resentment I had been holding in for years, came pouring out. Why me? Why was my mum, a bed-jumping alcoholic? She'd been the reason Dad had upped and left us and now...because of her, I'd nearly been raped.