No Longer Prisoners

Mum and Tom are fighting again. Hiding with the little ones in our room we wait for the screams to come and the sound of the door slamming signalling our safety. Every time Tom losses money or something goes wrong he takes it out on mum, blaming her for everything that has happened to him and for our family’s debt. He hits her, screams at her that if it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t be so miserable. Then he leaves slamming the door behind him and only returning when he feels it fit.

Sometimes we will come out to find mum crying on the ground agreeing over and over that is all her fault that she is beaten. Other times we will come out to find her on the ground not moving with new bruises forming and blood seeping from a new wound. I try and keep the little ones from seeing her like this, keeping them in their room asleep. Mum won’t seek help from any one, apart from me. She won’t let me call the police or the ambulance when it gets so bad that her injuries leave her breathing ragged and her body mangled.

Walking out of our sanctuary, I see mum. She is hunched over the sink coughing. With careful steps I walk over. Peering under her arm I see that there is blood in the sink.

“Mummy…” my voice comes out as an audible whisper just enough for her to hear me.

“Yes, Angel.” Her strangled reply meets my ears and I cringe. She starts to cough again and I see the tears mixing with the blood as I move to see more of her face. As she coughs again her hair cascades around her face blocking my view of her.

Placing my hands on her shoulders I carefully began to turn her body, however she shrugs out of my delicate grasp and slowly shakes her head. “Angel not this time. I…. you can’t see me this time. You do enough for me I can look after myself, go back to the little ones.” Her voice is so strained and barely audible but I capture every word.

“No mum.” I forcefully turn her towards me this time but not much force is needed. Her fragile body can not return any more fights as my hands overcome her will. Gasping I step cautiously back from her. Taking in her entire appearance I know that this time he has gone too far. She isn’t going to last to when he decides to waltz back through the front door of this house. Not without help.

Her face was darkening and swelling from the punches and slaps she received. The pale skin of her right cheek, from her ear to her lips, holds a perfectly imprinted hand of the man that calls himself my father. Her paling skin colour appears even whiter than usual, due to her jet black hair that all of us had inherited and the blood that encased her lips.

Moving from her face I can see a light red mark along her throat, marking where he threatened her life. I heard her pleading with him, asking him to give her another chance that she will do better by him and not mess up again. On her bare arms there were red finger marks from where he shook her and threw her. I heard her body hit the wall and the cry escape from her lips during the argument.

Trailing my eyes down her body I see that her legs are covered in blood too as they shook uncontrollably. However they seem unharmed apart from the healing bruises that already marked her fragile form. So where is the blood coming from? Forcing my eyes back to her face I want to confront her and discover where the blood is coming from, when her hand moved to her stomach.

Carefully removing her hand I see the blood now marking her white palms. With widening eyes, I slowly lift her shirt and find more blood. Within the mess there was a deep wound that matches the one that he leaves on her heart every time he walks out that door, with his still pounding in pure stone. My gaze darted to the bench, the dining table and  the floor searching to find what he used to penetrate her skin. Drifting over to the sink a glint of silver against the red and white catches my attention.

That… monster used my mother as a carving board then left her here to fend for her self. He went off to his hoes and sluts that I see cling from him as if he is walking gold. Yet he knows and I know that when he decides to come back to use my mother again when he feels he is good and ready that she will take him back with open arms. She is his slave and what he says goes. What she wants and needs doesn’t matter to him only he matters. Every thing is her fault and she accepts it. Then he takes her off to their room and… and makes her pleasure him until he his done. Then he leaves again.