Safe Haven

Introduction

YA fiction, w/ some mature? content, read at your own discretion :) My writing might suck and have some errors because I like writing when I'm drop-dead tired.

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"ELENA!"

Mitchell's voice boomed from downstairs.

I hear him curse under his breath.

"I told you to clean the goddamn kitchen!" The stairs creak under his weight.

I curl up in a tighter ball on the carpet of my bedroom, willing him to go away.

"Unbelievable..." I hear him mumble.

The heavy footsteps draw nearer to my bedroom.

"Clean the goddamn kitchen. I don't pay bills to have a worthless rat living under my roof."

I get up from fetal position and try not to punch another hole in the wall.

"Fine."

I unlock the door and slip outside into the hallway. I see my stepfather and try to sidestep him. Even in his half-drunk state, his reflexes aren't so bad.

A meaty hand grabs my upper arm and I wince with pain.

"Next time you forget to do what I ask, I'm kicking you out of the house. You can go live on the streets like the other scum on this earth." He sneers at me, and I smell stale liquor in his breath. It makes me gag and I try pulling away from him.

"Stop grabbing my arm! You're hurting me!" I try to shake him off.

He abruptly lets go of me and my behind makes hard impact with the floor.

I clench my teeth and try not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.

God I hate him.

I slip downstairs while clutching my arm. How much longer do I need to live like this?

******
I scrub the mountain of dishes in the sink and prep our dinner in a skillet. I pour some oil in and it crackles in the pan, like firecrackers going off.

I cook some vegetables with beef, with cilantro and garlic as seasoning. The aroma makes my stomach grumble but I remind myself I can't have dinner until after my workout.

I love cooking, but I love running more. Both things take my mind off Mitchell and everything else that's shitty in my life. The difference is, running makes me feel powerful. It also helps me blow off steam if Mitchell really gets on my nerves.

I glance at the time-- 6:30. There's enough time for Mitchell to sleep off the alcohol and eat dinner, and me to head to the gym before he realizes I'm gone. I cover the skillet with its lid and turn off the stove. Then, I take my dinner with me so I can eat it in peace and head towards the garage.

"Mitchell?" I call out. No reply. Figures, he's probably passed out in the bathroom or on one of the beds upstairs.

Ugh. He's so disgusting.

I slam the door shut and get in my car, wondering how he's able to afford all of this. I mean, material wise, we live pretty decently. We reside in the nicer part of the city and somehow we can afford to buy ten-dollar crates of mangoes every week 'out of necessity'.

But his drinking problem probably takes a chunk out of his paycheck. Also there's Insurance, for the damage after the loads of alcohol he consumes.

I sit in my Audi, remembering the old Mitchell. The one that wasn't abusive and drunk, who was actually kind and cared about me and mom. The one who taught me how to cook and bought me my Audi on my 16th birthday.

But I think when mom left that part of him left too, and he became hollow.

Now, he's a walking human shell filled with liquor and anger.

I'm dealing with mom's death in my own way, but seeing how Mitchell is destroying everything in his life, I try hard not to reflect him.

I turn on the ignition and drive off.

I hope one day that part of him returns; I know it's bound to happen-- he'll sober up and realize he isn't coping the right way.

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