Living Like A Runaway

Last Resort

A/N: Hey lovelies! Extra trigger warning this chapter... be safe <3

 "Melody Dawn Starr, what the fuck is wrong with you?" My dad shouted as soon as he saw me. Immediately, I backed up, trying to ignore the slime oozing on our own walls; it was fuchsia.  "Axl fucking Rose? You couldn't have picked someone else? He's the most dangerous fucking fuck on the fucking planet! And behind my fucking back, all of our fucking backs!" Satchel at this point backed up a little so dad couldn't see the look of guilt on his face.

I took a deep breath, mentally picturing the slime washing away. When I opened my eyes, it was all gone. "You don't know a damn thing about him then, do you?" I said calmly but forcefully, crossing my arms. 

Dad cracked his neck. "I don't know? Melody, you don't fucking know! He's a womanizing abuser, and a goddamned violent alcoholic. Do you even know the slightest fucking thing about him? You've known him for what, a few weeks? And you know what the fuck he's doing right now? Fucking every whore that walks in his direction. He doesn't fucking care about you; he's doing it to get a dig at me. He couldn't care less about what happens to you!"

"You fucking prick!" I hissed back, stepping up toward him. I was going to stand my ground, whether he liked it or not. "He's an amazing fucking person with a broken past and a shit ton of people that tried to tell him he was worthless. He knows how the fuck I feel because he went through abuse just like I did. He's creative and intelligent and he's in a Rock N' Roll band because it's the only thing that lets him be who he is, just like I am! And by the way, I told him he could fuck anyone he fucking wants to on tour, because I'm not his mother and I'm not gonna try to stop something that's gonna happen anyway!" I was seething at this point.

Satchel was actually the one that made the next move. "Michael, man, you gotta give her a chance for her to-"

"Shut up, Satchel," dad growled, clenching his fist. "I don't have to give her a chance for shit. She has no fucking respect for me to go and pull something like this. After I pulled her out of that shit show she had going on at home, and she had the nerve to go running off to Axl fucking Rose." 

Rolling my eyes, I took another deep breath to stop myself from losing my shit completely. "You only ever bothered to take me in because I asked you to. But where the hell were you the rest of the time? When I was growing up? You never even tried to see me. You're the one who doesn't fucking care, dad." My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, but I didn't exactly regret saying that. It was true.

And that's when he slapped me, clear across the face. It left a searing, white-hot pain across my left cheek, and I held it as the initial numbness transformed into pain. My head felt slightly dizzy, but that wasn't really one of my concerns. I was absolutely done with my father at this point, and I wanted nothing more than to stop feeling the gut-wrenching self-hatred in my heart.

I turned on my heels, running up to my room and locking it before even one of my band mates could open it. I even stuck a chair in front of it for good measure. Then, I walked into my bathroom and pulled out my old retainer case, grateful it had been of use for something.  When I popped it open, there was one singular little blade, one from a pencil sharpener that I had just unscrewed. Whether I was clean or not, I always kept one with me to feel safe. I was years clean, but at this point, if I didn't do this, I thought that I would kill myself.

My body had almost fallen into somewhat of a mechanical trance whenever this happened. I didn't have to think, and I didn't have to feel. Biting my lip, I looked down at my arm; even though I had short sleeves, I'd always worn excessive amounts of bracelets on both arms, which would make hiding these much simpler than if I didn't. For now, though, I removed them from both of my arms to make things less complicated. Then, it was almost as if I had mentally blacked out.