Runaways

Chapter 3

Elizabeth

Tonight, is the night. This is it, the night I’ve been waiting months for. You see, today is an exciting day. It’s Halloween and I’m going away. As in, running away. I don’t want to be here, this horrible place that’s supposed to be “home.” 

I’m not going away for a stupid reason, unlike other people who think their lives are so terrible. I am an only child and my parents are abusive. My father is addicted to gambling and I like it when he wins. He comes home happy and we sit together to have a  family dinner. 

But if he loses, I know. I can feel it. His tires screech, leaving black marks on the drive way as he slams his door so hard, the glass shatters. I brace myself for the living hell that is about to burst through the door. His feet stomp on the wooden floor as he runs up the carpeted stairs and my door flies open. There’s already a mark where the doorknob has hit the wall repeatedly, almost every day. I’ve learned not to show fear, as he beats me harder and feeds off of my cries out in pain.

My mother follows him in as she is also furious that loads of money is now lost. She hits me, usually throws her empty glass beer bottles at me. They both leave, satisfied as I am rolled up in the corner of my room, crying softly into my knees. I have bruises and cuts all over so horrid that I have to stay days, even weeks, home from school so they can heal.

But this is only ONE reason that they hurt me. If his favorite football team loses or if I get bad grades, which I can’t help since I miss so many days of school. He also hits me when he’s mad. Even the slightest thing can make him rush up those stairs and hurt me. It’s been going on as long as I can remember. I can’t even call him dad. It doesn’t seem like he is. What kind of dad hurts you? I’m done with the pain. I don’t deserve this.

I’m running away with the only people I can trust, Mary, Allie, Dario, and Oliver. I can relate to all of them. Oliver and Dario are beat, like me. Allie is left to fend herself as Mary is bullied, her parents calling her a disgrace and how she’s nothing. I love them and them only. I haven’t found anything or anyone else that I can look forward to in my day. 

It's 4:30 a.m. and I keep checking my phone over and over. What I feel like forever has passed, I check the time again. 4:33. I throw myself on my bed and sat up quickly, remembering not to make too much noise and wake my mother. I quietly tiptoe to my door, crack it open, and sneak towards the stairs. I peek over to find that she's on the couch falling asleep with a lit cigarette between her fingers as my father, next to her, flipping through channels on our flat screen he won about 2 weeks ago in a bet. I look at him in disgust.

I think about the beating I received a few hours ago and I hold my upper right arm. A deep gash was there from the glass lamp I once had on my desk that my father swung at me, for his final hit. It stung as I touched it while I slip back into my room. My phone went off, forgetting to put the volume down. I jump on my phone that lay on the bed, muting the sound. I push the quiet button and answer.

“Lizzie, it’s me, Allie.” Allie is the only person I know that calls me Lizzie, instead of Elizabeth. It doesn’t bother me at all, weirdly because I hate it when other people do. “We’re downstairs.” 

I walk towards my window and look out. There stood Dario and Allie looking up at me and waved to come down. I put on my black sneakers, picking up the bag I had packed earlier with the basics, money and an extra shirt. I have been saving quite a lot, as I reached $217. Every day since planning this, I’ve been taking little by little from my dad. I counted it up, an extra $103. $320 in total, it isn’t much, but it’s something.

“Alright, I’m coming down.” I replied and ended the call. I quietly slide to the window. So many thoughts and emotions going through my head and throughout my whole body, I got a few chills. I was excited and happy, yet nervous. I stop and I turned back to my bottom drawer. I looked under my shirts and I decided to change from shorts to my favorite denim blue skinny jeans. I had bruises on my legs, and didn’t want to worry anyone. I grabbed my phone and put it in my bag as well. I then took a light gray sweater and the black gun I took from my father. I stared at the weapon for a while then not wanting to waste time, I slip it into the bag and set for the window. One last look at the room I would never see again and checking on how I set up my bed to look as if I were still there. Opening the window, a screech was made.