Searching For A Rainbow

THREE-Carson

2:00 a.m. He should be passed out by now.

I took my key from its hiding place underneath a rock and slowly unlocked the door, so as not to make a sound. Shutting the door quietly behind me, I crept through the hallway, stepping over a broken beer bottle. Rounding the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. There he sat at the kitchen table, looking right at me. Well, kind of. I could tell just by looking at him that he was too drunk to see straight.

"There she isss, miss fffucking America," he slurred. He got up and stumbled towards me. I didn't dare to move. I gulped.

"And where," he jabbed me in the forehead with his finger, "have YOU been, miiiissy?"

"Just hanging out with some friends," I mumbled cautiously.

"FRIENDS?" he scoffed loudly, "YOU DON'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS."

I looked down and tried to shuffle past him to get to my room.

He furiously and suddenly slammed me against the wall, leaning in close.

"Just where," he breathed his hot breath into my ear, "do you think you're going?"

***
I sat up, rubbing my eyes and groaning at the massive headache.

Tossing the tattered comforter off of my body, I swung my legs over the side of my bed, trudging to the bathroom with heavy footsteps to look in the mirror and assess the damage.

A gnarly purple bruise covered my right cheekbone and eye, all the way up to my brow. I reached up to it and winced at the light touch of my fingers.

I sighed, lifting up my shirt.

Various shades of purple, black, blue, green, and yellow littered my ribcage and side. I took my shirt off completely and traced my fingers lightly over the bruises, cringing at the slightest amount of pressure. The movement of my arms caused me great pain as I put on a clean tee shirt, the short sleeves covering up the finger shaped bruises that touched just below my shoulders.

I got out my plastic bag of cheap makeup (some of which I had shoplifted) and did my best to cover up the bruises on my face.

It wasn't an easy task, but I had plenty of practice.