When I got home, my parents were fighting. Why was that not a surprise? I quickly ran up the stairs before either of them noticed me. I walked in my room, and closed the door shut, and locked it.
I sighed, "Better check my hopeless Facebook." I muttered to myself. I knew what was coming to me, my wall full of hate words, and nasty comments on my pictures. And that's exactly what it was. "You suck!" "Go kill yourself!" "Slut!" "Emo!" "Whore!" "Loser!" "Why are you still alive?" "Everyone would be better off if you killed yourself!"
I closed my laptop, and spun around my chair. "What am I supposed to do now?" I muttered. I scanned around the room, and spotted my unfinished drawing. I chuckled to myself. I stopped drawing that months ago.
I picked it up, and stared at the unfinished face staring back at me. I lied it flat on my desk, and began drawing again. It wasn't long until I heard a loud scream downstairs. I sat still, not moving a single muscle.
I then slowly began getting up from my chair, and stepping down the steps. I couldn't believe what I saw. My dad looking over my mom as she lied on the floor, red face, puffy with tears. "Mom?" I quietly mumbled out.
My dad quickly looked at me with fear in his eyes, a single tear slipping out. "Could you go upstairs for a bit?" He said shakily.
I still kept my eyes at the scene. "But...mom." I muttered.
"Go upstairs NOW!" My father said, now taken over by rage. I quickly ran back up the steps, and back in my room. Slamming the door again.
I could feel the warm tears sliding down my face. Soft sobs escaping my mouth. I fell to my knees, and rested my head in my hands "Why are you doing this to me god? Why?" I muttered in my hands.
"Please make it better god! Please!"
