Blood Stained and Drug filled

I was not wanted. I was unplanned. Because of this, my father hated me. My mother, an angel in the ground. He was a wife beater, drug addict, molester. My mother couldn't keep him from doing what he did. I never learned why, though I don't blame her.

2003

When I was about six years old my father had come home from work, his usual angry self. Instead of calming down like a normal parent. He started yelling at my mom and in a split second he hit her.

"See what you made me do bitch?" He was holding a metal spoon.

  My mother, on the floor crying stays silent.

  That was a rule mom had made if dad was yelling, no one was to talk.

  My sister Jade and I were standing in the doorway. She looks up at me as dad storms into the garage. "Micha? Why does daddy hurt mommy?"

  "I don't know." I didn't know.

Later that night, dad had finally calmed down, to a point. Mom had made mac and cheese for dinner. Jade and I ate then went to bed. Again another rule.

It wasn't until years later I had figured out why that rule was. He did drugs every night.

   Two days later was when he started beating my sister and I. I don't remember why. I think it was a stupid reason. But then again everything he did was stupid.

2007

As the beatings continued, I was forced to draw back. My teachers would always as why I had bruises. I'd always say, like dad had told me to do, fell off my bike.

  "How was school?" Mom asks washing the dishes. Her brown hair up in a bun, her blue eyes dim with, nothing.

  "Good I guess."

  "Micha." She dryed her hands and placed them on either side of my face. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." I look back at her with the same blue eyes.

  "Alright." She goes back to cleaning.

  "Ava!" Dad's voice booms through the house making me jump. "Ava! You bitch!"

  Mom was trying to calm dad down. He bumps into me. "What are you doing you little."

  "Bert leave him out of this!" Mom pushed him.

  "He's a spoiled kid."

  "He's deprived."

   "Well if you stopped spending my money on him and food he wouldn't be." Dad had picked up one of the pans from the sink.

  "If you stopped spending money on drugs we'd have money." Mom had puched him again.

  "Don't blame me!" Dad had struck mom over the head.