What's up with the scarf?

My parents

I move back and press against the wall, and tilt my head over to see if my parents were in the hall.

Clear. I slowly turn the corner and walk down the hall, hearing nothing. Maybe they went down the second set of stairs, or in the attic. I think. My pace quickens as I come to my room. Where I have been beaten by my parents, raped by their "friends" and plain out punched. I enter my room, and quietly, but quickly, swing open the closet doors. I grab the biggest bag I can see, and my favorite backpack, and start stuffing them with my most beloved clothes and objects.

As I am frantically stuffing my bags, I find my old necklace, it is silver with a heart on the matching chain. I look it over, remembering the days when my parents had loved me, when they didn't leave scars that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I even remember when my father had given it to me. He was pushing me on the swings, at the park, and pulled me off of them, spinning me in the air with a smile on his face. We sat down at a park bench, and he told me, "Allison, this is a very special necklace. You need to promise to keep it forever." I was only six at the time, and didn't think twice about a forever, knowing how long it would be. He gave it to me and I treasured it, I wore it every day until him and my mother got obsessed with alcohol. I was eight, and almost threw the necklace in the garbage disposal, but promised myself to hold on to it, keep the memory of what kind of a man my father once was. I brush my finger across the necklace, and stuff it into my backpack.

I finally finish packing, after about five minutes, and close up the bags. I turn to leave my room, but both of my parents are in the doorway, a bottle of beer in each of their hands. I freeze in fear.

"Hey sweetie." My mom says in a tone that makes the words sound horrid. My eyes widen as I see a broken bottle in her other hand.

"Get away from me." I say in disgust. Both of my parents come closer to me, stepping through the doorway.

"Come on, Alli, we need you to cooperate." My father says. "We have a friend over, and we want you to meet him." As if summoned, a stranger steps past my parents, takes a swig of beer, and comes close to me. His long hair messy and dirty, and he has yellow teeth greeting me. I step back.

"Stay away. Leave. Leave me alone." I beg. The man steps closer and I see out of the corner of my eye, my lacrosse stick. I can't believe I almost forgot that. I step to the left, now in front of it, and slowly grab it from behind me. The strange man takes another step closer to me, and I swing. The butt of the stick hits him hard in the face, and I kick him in the gut, hard. I run past him, and glare at my parents, blocking the doorway.

"Let me go." I run at them, and hit my father in the gut with my lacrosse stick, and punch my mother in the face. I dart past them, but my father grabs my leg and drags me back, slamming me to the ground. I scream as he drags me back. He takes my lacrosse stick and throws it over across the room, picks me up and slams me against the wall, denting it. I scream again in pain. He pushes me up the wall so I am not touching the floor.

"You need to learn how to behave." He says through gritted teeth. He pulls me forward and slams me back into the wall, hard. I cry out in pain, and see my mother collapse. Blood stains her shirt, but she fell to silently for my father to notice. Behind her, Stiles stands with a knife in hand. He puts a finger to his lips and steps towards my father.

"Wait,wait,wait!" I say, but my father thinks I am talking to him. "Leg." I say. He looks confused, and pauses slamming me against the wall. Stiles takes his chance and drives the broken wine bottle into the back of my dad's leg. He screamed, then lunged out to Stiles, forgetting about me. I fell from the wall and got my bags back. I pick up my lacrosse stick and my ball, I come up to where Stiles had knocked my father to the ground, and put my lacrosse stick across my shoulder, in ready position.

"You need to learn to behave," I repeat his words right before I slam my lacrosse stick down, and the solid hard ball slams into his head. He won't easily recover from that.

Stiles and I make sure I have all of my stuff and we step over my mothers dead body, out towards the car. Before we go, I turn back, and look over my childhood home. Hopefully, this will be the least time I ever need to come here.