Take Me Home

one

Chapter one:

"You can't keep pushing us aside! You leave for work at 4 in the morning, go throughout your day while I sit at home and pray to god you're okay since you leave me no other choice. You never call while I stay at home providing for our child, barely standing considering I only get a few hours of sleep. You get off work at 5 and don't show up until 7 or 8. Where do you go, huh? I need you! Your kid needs you! I just-"

The yelling continues to keep me awake. Dad got home a few minutes ago, apparently drunk, and mom immediately blew up at him on multiple occasions. As I sweep my feet off the side of my bed, the big red numbers on my clock strike 4 in the morning. Dad is never this late; he must be seriously intoxicated. The flooring is cold against my bare feet. Goosebumps start to raise on my legs as I make my way to the stairs at the end of our hallway.

I cross my arms over my chest and walk down the stairs, listening to the conversation as it intensifies. I was about to round the corner into the 'crime scene', but stopped when I watched my dad pick up a glass vase and threw it at my mom. It nearly missed her and hit the cupboard behind her head. I was scared, my dad never threw anything at my mom. The shattered glass had gone everywhere and there was a few pieces by my feet. I stared, for a while, at the mess that I would have to clean up.

I step into view. My dad sends me a warning look and my mother refuses to look at me. A glass cup that was on the counter next to my intoxicated father was hurled at my head. I ducked quickly.

"Get out you little bitch!" He screamed.

I was on the floor , in a pile of broken glass that was recently shattered. I didn't realize I was crying until a tear drop landed on my forearm. I quickly crawled to the backside of the wall. They go back to the screaming.

I make my way towards the stairs and crawl up them.

After trowing the few shirts and pairs of black skinny jeans into a bag, I stuffed the medicine bottle into the zipper part on the front. There were three bottles, two that contained actual medicine for my depression and anxiety and one that held my blades. I had gone through multiple hiding spots for them. The medicine bottle was The best one yet. I slipped on a pair of jeans and my blink shirt with my vans. I only had three shirts, my parents wouldn't ever get me clothes. My feet scrape along the floor to my window. Hurling my bag out on the lawn, I crawl out and jump. I lay there for a second, the pain of my ankles catching up. But when I get up and run to god knows where, I know this time I'm not coming back.