My Broken Mate

1: Wanting To Leave

I lay on the ground for almost an hour, waiting for my father to leave for work. If I got up I would get another beating and I was already feeling worse than ever. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs then he spoke.

"Hey! I'm leaving when I get home, dinner better be ready on the table!" There he stood over me as he spoke and soon walked out, slamming the door behind him. I quickly picked myself up, trying my best to walk up the stairs to my room.

When passing by, there my mother was passed out on the floor by the bathroom. I just shook my head as I smelled the alcohol coming right off of her.

I closed my door and made sure it was locked. As I slowly sat on the edge of my bed wincing from the pain. I did what I always have done as I grabbed the first aid kit from the side of my beaten-up drawer and began to clean up.

Grabbing the rubbing alcohol with the cotton balls, I started to pat my soon to become bruises on my arms and stomach. I hissed in pain as I cleaned up all the dry blood from the scars.

I threw away the badges into the same trash can that I have used for almost two years now, and just lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

I couldn't believe how life has turned upside down. I started to remember all the memories we had...before the accident happened.

It had all started when my older brother, Jason, had sadly passed away in a car accident.

Jason was the star of our family as the oldest boy everyone looked up to him. He always got good grades which led to him being able to go to whatever college he wanted. He was the life of the party, always made everyone feel so welcomed and comfortable plus played on the football team so basically, everybody loved him.

Then that one last night, he went to a party with his friends and the driver of the car he got into to, wasn't paying attention and drove right into an eighteen-wheeler. They couldn't save them.

I cried almost every night, wishing it never happened. I couldn't believe that he was actually gone, I felt that he was still there.

And ever since then, my parents have blamed me for his accident saying if it wasn't for me he would have never gone to that party and got drunk. And maybe that was the truth.

That night, Jason had invited me with him to the party but I declined. I had a lot of homework and didn't feel like going out, but I knew that if I would have gone I would have watched him and drove him home safe and sound.

I know people may say that I shouldn't blame myself but my brother did everything for me and I couldn't do one thing for him that could have saved his life.

Now, they beat me almost every day, physically and emotionally. They always say things to me to hurt me and break me down. That is what made me mute. I haven't spoken since my father first hit me. I cried and cried and asked why? But all they say was Jason.

I looked at the clock with tears running down my face and saw that my father would be back in about two hours so decided that I needed to start cooking dinner if I didn't want a beating. I slowly limped downstairs holding onto the rail and headed towards the kitchen.

As I made it to the fridge to open it, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and knew it was my mother. I knew she was heading my way only because she was getting more beer. I moved away and went to the other side away from her.

I felt her eyes on me but didn't look up until I heard the fridge door close. She stared right at me with a sad face, trying to say something to me but just closed her mouth and turned right upstairs.

My mother never really hit me whenever my father wasn't here she would just stare and leave. I wiped my tears away thinking how close I and her used to be until she let him keep hitting me that night.

After she left, I began to prepare the food. I quickly turned on the oven and put some chicken breast inside to cook. Along with some chopped-up vegetables and rice. Soon I didn't realize that an hour has passed, distracting myself with cooking. The oven timer beeped, taking out the chicken and starting to cut it into pieces, placing everything on a plate for the both of them.

Once finishing their plates, I grabbed some chicken with rice and put them into a bowl for me to sneak upstairs before he came. The thing is they do feed me sometimes to make sure that I don't starve, as my father says don't want our punching bag to be weak.

Right as I placed the plates on the table, the front door opened and shut. He was home.

I watched as he threw his jacket onto the couch, and walked towards me. Stepping off to the side, he sat at the head of the table inspecting the food while my mother just came straight down and sat next to him, stuffing the food into her mouth.

He took a bite of the food to taste it as I waited nervously. "Hm it's good but next time make something better! Now go to your room and don't come out!" There I quickly walked off, passing the kitchen quickly to grab my bowl and headed upstairs.

Going up the stairs, I was happy, no beating for tonight. Locking the door, I sat on my bed and began to eat. I had not eaten all day and was very hungry. Quickly finishing, still hungry but was okay, grabbing the bowl and placed it under my bed. I knew that in the morning I would need to take it back down before he finds it.

Getting up, decided time to get ready to shower and bed. Heading towards my closet, grabbed some pants and a big T-shirt to change into.

Entering the bathroom, I turned the shower on first to have the hot water slowly began to heat up. Taking off my clothes, I turned towards the mirrors and began to stare at my body and face.

All I see is a broken, ugly, poor girl. My hair was just plain black and wavy, my eyes were just brown, my body was so skinny with bruises and scars from all the beating. No one would never be attracted to me.

The mirror began to fog as I turned around and went in the shower. The water ran down my body, relaxing underneath as I felt some stress being released. This was the only part of the day that I loved because I was alone.
No worrying about being beaten, being yelled at, harassed at, nothing, just myself and my thoughts.

Leaning my head against the wall, I began to think I want to leave this house..so bad. I want to try so bad!

But so scared that he will find me. I made plans before, but always backed out. If I left I won't have anywhere to go or anyone to protect me, even if this is a living hell hole. I began to think this is my childhood home that still provides me a shelter over my head and food for me to eat.

My father told me before that if I ever tried to escape, call the police or tell anyone the punishments will only get worse.

Looking down, my hands were now all soggy looking, I have been in here for a while. Turning off the water, I reached out and grabbed my towel. Drying off my body and hair, I stepped out to get dressed.

I threw my towel and dirty clothes into my bucket off to the side. Grabbing my brush I smoothed my hair out, letting it fall down my shoulders.

Walking out, I felt more than ready for bed. Jumping right into my bed, I grabbed my blanket and curled up as it only covered about half my body.

I turned around towards my dresser and saw the last family photo we had taken. My parents smiling with Jason and I in the front as they hug us from behind.

I felt the tears tearing up, thinking if Jason was still here how life would be so much easier and different.

Sleep soon began to consume me as my eyes were getting heavy. Tomorrow would be the same as today always, before saying the words I repeat almost every night to my brother...
I miss you.