(Sequel) Breaking The Juvenile (In Process)

Chapter 11

Eliza

Eliza's Pov
(A week ago)

"

Fuck you!" I scream at Tyshawn. He's drunk and he came in with another woman's panties on his shoulder. His shoulders! He doesn't even try to hide it anymore.
"What bitch?" He says, when he's drunk, he's more aggressive than his already strong nature. I spit in his face, angry I give him a hateful gaze.
"I hate you" I tell him, what's been on my mind for a long time, but not my heart. He's the father of my kids, and other people's kids too. He's my husband, but other people's fuck buddy. He's the man that I fell in love with, but he's not. " You really hate me, huh? But, not when you come back looking for this dick." I look at him in disgust. He's immature, he's a fucking child, and a dumbass!

I love him, and I need him. I want him, I crave him. I want his touch on me, I want his kisses, but not after him fucking others.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I love him, I hate him. "I see why you never did anything with your life! You have 7 fucking kids! You work at Burger King! You're nothing!" I yell in his face. The smell of alcohol, sex, and weed smothers me.

" You're nothing but shit underneath my shoe."

That was the thing that pushed him over the edge, the realization that he's going to die being nothing. I look into his beautiful eyes, and I see the devil. I see all the wrong he's ever done in his eyes, I see his good and bad.
In a blink of an eye, my face starts stinging, I fall to the ground. His hands are in a fist, he punched me. He bends over, hovering my small frame. He pulls me up by the shirt, and continues to punch me in the face, over and over and over. With every punch comes more pain.

Blood starts running down my face, and I start seeing black spots everywhere.

'He's going to kill me!'

Blocking his punches, I kick him over and over. Hunched over in pain from his private, I take a couple seconds to get up. I support myself with the dresser. The dresser tips over a bit, smashing his phone on the floor.

I walk over to my side of the bed, grabbing my bat. My daddy always said to keep one under my bed. "You done lost your fucking mind!" I tell him. I hit him in the side with the bat. "Ahrg!" He screams. "And I'm about to lose mine!" I scream, hitting him with my bat, over and over.
"Fuck you, for cheating on me, for having so many kids, grabbing Angela's ass! For everything, I fucking hate you!" Every pause is filled with screams from me hitting another part of his body.
I grab my cigarettes on the dresser, and drop the bat on his body. Lighting the stick, I crouch down to see if he's still breathing, as he had stop moving.

I put my two fingers on his neck, and thank God I can feel s pulse. Thank God!

Walking into my babies' rooms, I kiss all of their foreheads. They all share a small room, since we live a two room house. It's a fucking trap house, that's not how or where my kids should be raised.
They all look like angels sleeping, but I know they're pretending, they can hear through these thick walls. Every whore Tyshawn fucks, in our bed, every argument. They hear it all.
"I'm leaving, I have to go. I love y'all, I'll be back." I tell them, since I know they're awake. But, they're still pretending. They're masters at pretending, like Tyshawn and I.

~~~~~~~~~

I love my babies, I swear, but I can't do this anymore. Not anymore. I pull my car over at the hill. There's a beach right there, this was my kids' favorite place to go. The town has closed it down now. Kiara used to play in the sand. Tyshawn and Jabori swam in the water. The only two that could swim, actually.

Tykeil and I were afraid to get our hair wet. I remember our times here, I could still see it. Blinded by my own memory, I walk towards the illusions of my kids.

I start to fall, but all I could see was Tykeil, Kiara, and Jabori smiling at me. And the last thing I hear is
"I love you Mommy."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hi everyone,
I know this is a touchy chapter, and by far the saddest. It touches on the subject of domestic violence and death. Many times such topics are sometimes in the same field. And thankfully, not all are.
I am a survivor of domestic violence, and I were sed to be scared talking about it, crying about it. I had envisioned that crying about such a trauma made me weak, and I still feel that way, when I cried to the wrong people. They just stared and watched.
But, remember there's a life beyond evil. The other side is greener. Life is worth it, don't hurt yourself. Someone out there loves you, they do.

I love y'all

-Angela Williams Tourreau