Magnolia (playboi carti fanfic)

8

6..

All I've known of my father is that he was a very powerful, hateful, abusive man.

My mother told me how he'd beat her relentlessly, and to keep her from getting any authorities involved, he'd threaten her by telling her he would kill her and me.

That was just when she was still pregnant with me.

When I was born, she vowed to never let him do anything to me, or her ever again.

So she ran away. Changed her name and moved across the country, settling in Miami.

She worked honest jobs, landing one as a strenographer a few years later. With how good the job paid, she was able to purchase a cozy beach house just off the coast of Daytona Beach.

She raised me alone, just me and her on the beach. I was homeschooled all my life, because she feared he could find her somehow if I was registered in some public school.

She didn't want to take any chances.

"Mom," I told her, taking a seat in one of the room chairs. "Slow down." She was rambling frantically as she went on too fast. Too fast for my horrible hearing.

She was going off about someone coming to get her. And she wasn't safe.

"I can't stay here anymore." She cried, while I could hear heavy rain tapping a window.

She was driving.

"I'm coming to get you. We can figure something out. We can go to North Carolina. I have some sisters out there. They can help us out while I figure somewhere to get us situated." She spoke more clearly and calm.

I shook my head, my fingers pressing against my temple. "North Carolina? Mom, what? What are you talking about? We can't leave Florida."

"Schenell, we can't stay here." She parted her words. "He's already probably on his way." That was the second time she mentioned this he.

"Who?" I was still confused. She was rambling without giving any real context. Like her mind was going faster than she could talk.

"Your father."

All the stories came flooding into my mind. Everything he's done to her. The beatings, the rape. All those horrible stories that caused my heart to ache for my mother when I first heard them.

"How did he even- What is he-" My mind struggling to find the right questions to ask.

But my mom knew what I was trying to say. "The collision. It went national Shell. He told me he saw it, and he was coming to kill us both." Everything froze around me.

Before, my father was just a tale. Some sort of urban legend that I couldn't believe to be true. Because all it was was a story. But this was like the pages jumping from the book. Popping up in 3D like those baby books.

My mother was on her way to Atlanta. My father who was only a myth in my head until 30 minutes ago was coming to kill us.

And I didn't know what to do.

In three days, I have had more events taken place than an entire 17 years.

I shut my eyes, warm water pouring down along my face. I tilt my head just enough, letting the water soak through my hair.

I ran a hand over my hair, grabbing my ends as I began to attempt finger combing. My hair hasn't been attended to since I left home.

Sunday's were wash days. I would spend a few hours detangling, washing and conditioning my hair. Then either leaving it in a blowout or pressing it as well considering how tired I was already.