I sit up in a blue bedroom, it's small and old looking with an old arm chair in the corner. Where am I? Suddenly the memories from last night come flooding into my brain, all I can think about is the look of horror that washed over my mom's face as her own husband, tried to kill us. He was never ok, we knew that, but we had never imagined he'd take everything to desperate measures like he did last night. I remember him stepping inside of our house, with his usual crazed face, and he asked me what I was eating.
"Just a peanut butter sandwich dad."
"DONT WASTE THE FRICKEN PEANUT BUTTER CLAIRE." I can tell he's drunk, the stench of alcohol ripples off his breath. He moves closer to me, his left eye twitching just a bit. I move back until I am up against the wooden kitchen table. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" He asks me as tears begin to well up in my eyes, this has happened before. He reached up for the first thing he could find, our pepper mill and struck my head. The pain was excruciating, spreading through my entire body. Blood rushed to my head, and I saw spots. My blood ran cold and the last thing I saw was my mother and flashing lights outside.
When your unconscious, most don't remember anything. I did. I could hear what was going on, but I was in a trance, almost like I was in a dream. I wish it was. There are some things in life that haunt you, that you cant forget and everywhere you go, somehow your mind trails back to it. A memory that the harder you try to forget. makes you feel worse.
So I sit up in the blue room, unsure of where I am, or why I'm here. The bed is almost hospital like, and there are two side tables beside the bed. It has an old smell, like the smell of an old used bookstore. An eerie feeling washes over me. I get up slowly, the floor boards creak under my weight.
Where. The hell. Am I?
Slowly, I open the door. "Mom?" I whisper-yell across a dim lit hallway.
"Yes Claire, I'm in the second door." Gee ok mom, thanks for telling me I'd be rooming alone in a strange building tonight. I make my way cautiously to the doorway an timidly open it.
"Hey mom, can you explain to me why I am here?" I ask her.
"Oh honey, this is our new home a little while." She says as she stiffly hops out of her lame excuse for a bed. You can imagine how I must feel right now, confused, mad and I also feel like I am the star of my own drama movie.
'The Depressing Life of Claire Grenne, Confessions from a 15 year old lame ass.'
That sounds about right.
