All Your Fault

"This is all your fault!" she screamed, her green eyes filled with rage, black rivers of black mascara dripped down her face. She stalked towards me, a pale pink summer dress hanging from her small shoulders, her hand splayed protectively over her pregnant belly.

I gripped the chain attached to the metal collar around my neck tightly, the skin on my neck burned from the chaffing; blood oozed down my neck. I flinched, my body ached, my throat was parched, my hair matted with dried blood.

"No, no! I didn't do anything!" I yelled, pressing my back deeper into the cement wall.

"NO!" I screamed jolting awake, hand flying to my throat.

"Kasey!" my mother ran into my room, pink fluffy house robe flying behind her, hair in a messy bun.

"Honey are you okay." Her hands found mine; I pulled them away, not missing the flinch when I did. Guilt pressed into me, but I pushed it away with a blank face.

"Sorry mum" I mumbled, gripping my comforter tightly in my fist, "just a dream."

"o-okay" my mum stuttered slightly, she looked down at her hands, seeming unsure of what to do; there was nothing she could do.

"I have to get ready for school." I pressed on, trying to get her out of the room so I could shake away the fear that had gripped be only moments earlier.

"Sure honey, I'll make you a lunch." She forced a smile on her face and flitted out of the room I didn't have the heart to tell her I never ate lunch.

Sighing, I climbed stiffly out of bed, absentmindedly ringing my hands, a habit I had picked up. I dressed in a loose pair of jeans, a black shirt, and zip up hoodie; a nondescript, under the radar ensemble.

I grabbed my bag and my shoes and slipped down the hallway, pausing outside of the kitchen door.

"She doesn't even let me touch her Harold, her own mother." My mother's voice was filled with pain, I clenched my jaw.

"It's only been a year honey; you have no idea what it was like." My dad cut in, most likely reading his daily newspaper, sipping a cup of strong brewed coffee, acting like he knew what he was talking about.

"I'm her mother. Her mother, she shouldn't be afraid of me," anger refilled the pain fueling my frustration.

I tensed, pushed open the door, grabbed the lunch off the counter, and left.

"Love you honey" my mother called after me, it didn't warrant a reply, she was fake.

The walk to school was uneventful, my hood was pulled up over my face, blocking out the crisp autumn breeze. The trees just began to lose their brightly colored leaves, a blanket of red, gold, and orange covered the ground. My worn sneakers crunching across the cracked concrete sidewalk, my hands shoved in my pockets.

It was a year ago, a year ago that I escaped with my life. A year ago that my life changed, a year ago that I did a little inside. I felt as if someone was watching me, my eyes flitted nervously from side to side; shivering I hunched my shoulders starting to walk faster to school.

The looming building of rusted brickwork towered into the fall sky, wrought iron gates were propped open as hordes of students ambled towards its peeling painted doors. I waited patiently, leaning against an old oak tree. The last group of students pushed through the doors and I made my way to the doors.

Two figures caught my eye; a tall broad shouldered guy leaned against the school. I couldn't see him well from this distant but the glowing ember of cigarette sharply contrasted the shadows that surrounded him and his companion. I opened the door to the school and went in, giving the school skipping degenerates no more thought that the gum I just avoiding stepping in.