Her hair fell across her face in small {H/C} waves. Her eyelids concealing the dark emptiness where her eyes would have resided. Her small, pale pink lips were pulled down into a frown as she strained her ears to hear the chaos of shouts just downstairs. Silent sobs escaped her throat as she listened in to the insults being tossed at each-other by her parents. Despite the havoc going on around her, she eventually fell asleep. Her hand clenching the stuffed, blue teddy bear next her. The moon shone through the open window, giving her skin an almost angelic glow. Her stomach rose and fell with each shaky breath, and with her petite body structure, it seemed like the tiniest touch could make the fragile girl crumble apart...
*********
I sprung up out of bed with a shriek as a loud crash echoed through-out the home.
"How could you?!" A woman's voice screamed, her tone laced with anger and hatred. I sighed, knowing all too well that another fight was going on. What happened this time? I flinched as I heard another crash bounce around the walls of the little house. My parents were at it again. I, of course, loved them. Despite all the mayhem they've caused towards each-other. Every single day, they would fight over simplest of things. An example would be yesterday when my father just exploded at my mother for forgetting to get milk from Wal-Mart. I didn't bother getting up to listen in on what happened like I would usually do, I could easily hear the "conversation" they were having all the way down the block. My parents fought with each-other as far back as I could remember, to be honest with you, that's all I remember them doing. Screaming and cursing at one other.
I would cower in the corner of my room, gripping my stuffed animal to my chest with all the strength a six-year-old body could hold. I would squeeze my eyes shut and just hope they would stop. But by ten, I started listening in. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist. At thirteen, I would just hum to distract myself from all the noise. At fifteen, I started to ignore it the best I could. Sixteen was the age I finally had mustered up all the courage I had and begged them to stop. Which, unfortunately, would lead to more fighting. And now I'm seventeen, turning eighteen tomorrow. I usually don't do anything about it. I got so used to it, that the screaming just seemed natural now. A daily occurrence, which in fact, it was.
I heard another shout and then a slapping noise. I jumped; my heart beating out of my chest. Did... Did he hit her? My thoughts raced over all the possibilities of what could have made the sound.
"N-no, he couldn't have..." I pulled open door, its hinges creaking loudly as I did. I stepped out, my hands set in front of me to feel my surroundings around me. "Mom?" I called down the stairs. "Dad?" I've always wondered why they put my room upstairs, I guess I found out now. To keep me from coming downstairs. I set a foot in front of me, trying to figure out where the floor dipped. Once I figured it out where exactly it was, I moved forward. Carefully not to fall down the stairs and snap my neck... Don't even think about it, {First Name}.
"Mom, I'm coming down!" I could hear a slight gasp come from her. There was pause, one that seemed to last an eternity.
"N-no, I'm fine, {First Name}. J-just go up on back to bed. I'll be there in a few moments." She responded, trying to hide back the sob in her voice. But I heard it. It was practically right in front of my face. I knew he was hurting her. I knew he was making her say that. I knew she wouldn't come back up. Yet, I went back up those damn steps. Giving my good-nights to her and my father. I wonder if I wasn't a coward then, if she would still be around. The stairs creaked under my light and weary feet. I wonder if my mother felt panic or relief when I left her in the kitchen with him. I laid down on the soft mattress of the bed. Grimacing when the screams, sobs, and yells emitted from the floor below.
"This is my fault, isn't it? Every since then, they've been like this. It's all my fault." I bitterly whispered to myself. A small, sad smile crept it's way onto my face. "If only I hadn't done this to myself." I don't know how --through all of this-- I fell asleep. But the last memory I had that night was the window. More specifically, a man coming in from it.
YOU ARE READING
Not So Different
Terror{First Name} is an oddity. Or as her classmates would say, a freak. Well, being born without any eyes, of course she would be called such names. Despite her lack of eyes and constant teasing, she lives a pretty decent life. Her parents are kind, nur...
