Trapped by my choices

Chapter 12

My vision was blurry as my eyes opened and began to focus in. My head was throbbing and my stomach was stinging, my legs were sore, and my feet ached. I moaned as I rolled over, trying to attract some attention.

It didn't take more than five seconds for my mother to come rushing in by my side, "Oh honey, are you okay? What happened?"

My father stood next to her, he didn't say anything, he just gave me that disappointed look that he did sometimes. Him and I didn't really get along that well, he thought I was too much of a wimp and I thought he was too much of a jerk. I can't say that I didn't care about what my dad thought because, the truth is, it hurt me to think that my own father wouldn't come to any of my swim meets, or chorus concerts. It was disappointing to know that, when I grew up, if I wasn't a professional football player, I probably would never talk to him again.

"I'm fine, mom. I just fell." I lied. Panic suddenly filled my body as reality once again hit me. The guilt finally set into the pit of my stomach, the fear took over my body, chills ran up my spine, and every last bit of hope had been drained out of me.

My mother examined me thoroughly, "Honey, you are not fine."

I rolled my eyes at how overdramatic she was. She could be very annoying at times, She had black, curly hair and brown eyes that had a worried look. Her body was slim and she was short.

My father finally spoke up, "Who jumped you?"   His voice was strict and annoyed, as if he didn't want to be bothered with this.

"I wasn't jumped, I fell." I said with attitude in my voice. If I told him that I was jumped he would probably lecture me about how I have to be able to fight back and not be scared. He would probably tell me that I'm too weak and need to learn not to run. So I didn't tell him what happened. My mother would probably call the cops and then I'd be even more mixed up in this whole mess.

"Sweetie, it's okay to tell us what happened." My mothers soft, sweet voice cut in again, soothing me.

"I wasn't jumped." I sat up, head throbbing even more, heart pounding, hoping no one would see through me, the sudden shock of pain flowed through my body and didn't stop until it reached my feet. I simply shook it off, acting like I was completely fine.

My father didn't argue with me, to my surprise. He just nodded his head and walked out of my room. My mother on the other hand watched as I pulled the blankets off my body and slowly moved my feet towards the floor.

The hard, wooden floor was cold on my bare feet. My feet felt like boulders that wouldn't budge, my knees were wobbly as I tried to regain my strength. I could feel the wound on my stomach reopen, for the third time in less than three days.

I walked over to my dresser, slowly and grabbed a random shirt from the middle drawer. Carefully, I slid the shirt over my head, then I walked over to the mirror, examining myself. A large gash across my face explained why my head was throbbing, a possible concussion as well, perhaps.

After a moment I turned and started walking towards the door, regaining speed and balance as I moved.

"Where are you going?" My mother stopped me halfway out the door.

I thought for a moment, then remembered that it was Friday, "I have school."

My mother looked shocked, as if I was a ghost. She couldn't even get one sentence out of her mouth, "You... I...we....going to school, you?" I knew exactly what she meant, me? Going to school in the state that I was in?

I will admit that school isn't my favorite place and I would do anything to get out of going but I needed to get out of the house. I can't explain it, I just couldn't stay there all day, I guess I had to prove to myself that I was okay. Maybe I also had to keep moving, to get my mind off everything, so the guilt wouldn't flood my mind.

I guess it was pointless, I mean, going to school, trying to get my mind off of having to deliver those drugs. It was only the beginning of a whole lot of guilt, regret, and suffering.