Tidbits of a Mind.

Revenge

Note: This story is about one of my OCs named Dio. There's a trigger warning for abusive tendencies. Please read at your own caution.

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Dio's mother neglects him and his younger sister. His step dad is an abusive alcoholic.

Hatred ensues.

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I want to fucking drown it.

It, being all the arguments, the curse words.

It, being the anger and fear in every blink and letter.

It, being the hatred in this family, if you can even call it a family anymore.

The lying and doubt is getting to me. I'm on the sidelines watching my family be torn apart at the seams. The fire burns on and on but I'm too helpless to douse it. My words are only drops on a bonfire.

I can't breathe as my mother cries tears of fear and my fake dad's eyes feel no regret while hitting her. With the smell of alcohol on his breath, his words slur further with every accusation. He's screaming, she's screaming, they're screaming but I can't hear them.

My heart is jittery, I really don't want this. I really want him to leave. He should stop, but I almost don't want him to. This is my own shitty revenge. For all the times she hurt us.

Us, being Essie and I.

Us, being this creaky old house, the way my mother locks herself in her room and wails in self pity.

Us, like all the time wasted as I taught myself to make a meal with barely any ingredients.

Us, like every moment Essie, as a 6 year old, would go out to do menial tasks just for a few bucks.

Us, like the time when I found stacks of money in my mother's drawers, stuffed to the brim, but she hit me for snooping and threw me out in the snow.

For every time she was selfish.

For every time she hit us.

For every time she wasn't a parent and I had to cover.

For every time she wasn't in the house, out for nights on end.

For every fucking time we were abandoned.

This is my revenge.

And now, I'm leaving here with my sister.

Now, I'm grabbing Essie's hand. She's shaking and sweaty, broken. I can hear my heart thump rapidly as she nods that she's ready.

Now, I'm tugging on a small backpack filled with all our belongings, food, water, and 3/4 of the cash in my mother's drawers.

Now, I'm sprinting out the door, my sister behind me.

Now, I can hear my stepdad scream.

Now, I can hear my mother's tears hit the hardwood floor.

Now, I can hear freedom,

my own shitty revenge.