I'll Wait For Us

Empty

Father is home again, it's currently eleven something. I run and hide, I'll be able to tell whether or not he's drunk depending on if he smashes something and his foot steps stagger. I hide in the closet, waiting, barely breathing, fidgeting slightly. I can hear him get closer, looking for me.

I'm praying he thinks I either ran off or doesn't care enough to look for me. Either is fine with me.

I listen to his foot steps. He's drunk, I know because this one: Happens often and two: He sounds like he's limping.

I can hear him cursing out my name, muttering, I don't feel anything on an emotional level. I go deeper into the closet, one made a bed here. Mostly just d pillows and blankets, recently I've gotten him to buy me a mini fridge while he's not drunk. Now I have snacks in there.

My closet room, as I call it, is unknown to mama and father. Father hurts me and Mama, I don't like him while he's like this, drunk and abusive. But he's really nice when he's not drunk which isn't often.

I cover my closet room with blankets, it's better to just lay here to think then if I stay up and awake, I could attract unwanted attention from Father. I don't think he's fully grasped the idea of insomnia, which is something I suffer.

When he's not drunk, he'd try to find a cure. He calls it "Figuring out how I 'tic'".

Mama is my real mom, father is my step father. She had to marry as my actual dad passed away. We were in a financial situation, we needed money and Father had one condition, which was the marriage.

Mama is sick, she hasn't been getting better, worse actually. Father has been very focused on his work, he doesn't care about us.

He's been focused on my insomnia, though I don't think my insomnia. If he figures out how to get rid of it completely, he could become famous, as he said.

I hear his limping steps get closer. The more they get closer the closer I am to crying. I don't want him to hurt me again. The bruise hasn't healed from last time.

Sometimes I want to die, sometimes I'd like to fight back, sometimes I want to run away with Mama. I've never let him hurt Mama, I always move in front of her.

I curl into a ball and let my tears fall. Mama is the only one that's ever been there for me.

Morning

I woke up with tear stains on my face and the blanket under me. I slowly get up, moving the blanket above me. I flinch as sunlight hits my face, but adjust well enough to tell its 7:45.

He'll have a hangover for sure, but not drunk. I should be in the clear. I hate this home, it's empty and dull and full of memories that I hate.

I look into my fridge, out of milk. I'll have to go get some or not eat at all. I wish my dad, my actual dad was here. They still don't know who did it, and I get reoccurring nightmares from it.

I slowly leave my fortress of crushed dreams to go find food. I make it half way to the end of the hallway until I hear Father. "Good morning Father," I say as I boy, refusing to look to him.

"Hello child, I must leave to my studies, tell my wife I say good evening when she wakes." He speaks so proper. My Dad didn't, he'd drop y'all in every sentence, my mother hated it, but we know she loved it, as she loves every part of my Dad.

With that, Father is gone and out the door. Good, nobody wants him here. I go to make food. Eggs specifically, as Mama said she wanted yesterday. I grab a tray with pre-heated food. I go to wake Mama, bringing her food in bed. She's too sick to get up.

But this time she doesn't. She's moved on without me, reached a higher plane of existence and left me with Father. She left me, with him. There's no one to live for anymore, no reason to exist, unless suffering counts.

In one morning, what seemed to be going well, destroyed. He could've found a cure. He didn't help he. This is his fault.

And in the entirety of that day, Father was arrested, and I lost the only people to take care of me. I didn't think it was possible to die and still be living.

I feel like an empty shell of who I used to be. I'm not anyone, I'm alive and empty. There's nothing left to feel, everyone I love dies, I'm hurting everyone around me.

I pack my bags, why? Why is everyone moving? Why are my step aunts here? Why are we getting in the car? Are they speaking to me? Their mouths are moving, I can't hear them. I fall asleep, we're in the car for another fifteen minutes, I'm still awake. Are we going inside? I follow them, best not to get on their nerves, they'll leave you too.

My day goes by fast, I don't feel anything. They feed me, I save the water and food. I stay awake until two a.m. I'm walking out the door, nobody knows. I keep walking until I reach my old house. I run my hands along the wall.

A bloody hand print is on the wall, what does it mean?