Her messed up freedom; His caged perfection

2

(A/N: This story has already had so many more reads than I would've expected, so thank you so much. I've decided to turn it into a story so let me know what you think of it, otherwise I may just delete the last few parts of this and keep it as just short creative writings. Thanks again)

He returned 'home' once again.

I say 'home' and not home only because it felt more like just a house.

Just a house he was forced to return to everyday after school at exactly 3:30 sharp. Otherwise, one may face serious consequences. 

He walked with perfect posture and his chin held high towards the polished wooden door of the house, but in all reality it felt like he was dragging himself up the driveway. Perfection can be very heavy to hold up sometimes. He got to the front door and stopped and looked down at his little phone to check the time, expecting to wait for the clock to strike 3:30 when the door shot open and his furious, so called 'mother' stood there with fire in her eyes.

Now in this instance, I say 'mother' and not just simply mother because if you were to define this said word, you are likely to think of a caring woman with a warm smile and perhaps a child in their arms. Comforting them. Drying their tears. This is what I thought of, as I am lucky enough to have a mother who cares at least just a little. She is not perfect, but she's enough, and I'm grateful for all she does. In all honesty, it doesn't matter what I think of when I hear the word Mother. I am just the author. What do you think about?

In his case, it just doesn't seem right to call this woman in front of him his mother, so as an alternative she is his 'mother', meaning like the definition you would get if you googled the word. 

noun: mother; plural noun: mothers; noun: Mother; noun: Reverend Superior
a woman in relation to her child or children

That is truly all she was to him.  So if you would excuse my word choice, might we continue with our story?

He looked up at the woman in front of him and shook with fear. His 'mother' snatched the phone out of his shivering fingertips and shoved the lit screen into his face.

3:31pm Thursday

~HIS PERSPECTIVE~

I was late. And I knew what was coming. The thought of being beat for the third time this week sent fear through my chest and a single tear drop down my cheek. SLAP. I held my cheek as a reaction to the sting that replace where that single tear once was. "Don't cry you pathetic excuse of a human. Only weak little boys cry." She said calmly and pulled me inside the house, slamming the door shut behind me then turning back to where my scared body stood and raising her hand.

I couldn't do it. 

I couldn't take it today.

For once, I couldn't just 'let it happen'. 

It was like, for once, I felt like I didn't deserve it. 

I knew I didn't deserve it.

Her hand came flying towards the same cheek and I ducked to the floor. Trying to act quickly, I scurried through her legs and ran as fast as I could up to the back door, where my 'father' stood with a mug of coffee in his hand looking shocked as to why I had run in so fast. My mother screamed from where she once stood in shock. "Get back here you little bitch! You can never get away!"

My 'fathers' shocked face then turned to anger as I heard fast footsteps of approach us from the other side of the house. I was trapped. I couldn't get out the front or the back door. The only open pathway was upstairs. I sprinted off again and hurried up the stairs with both my parents following close behind. 

I made it to the top and into my bedroom, locking the door and climbing onto my work desk, shoving open the window to the street outside. I stared out, ignoring the bashing on my bedroom door and the threats that were screamed from the other side. I knew they'd break the door down at any moment, so I took the chance, and jumped from my window sill. I slid down the small rooftop and landed firmly on the grass that was trimmed perfectly even, followed by an army roll so I didn't injure myself. Once I was up on my feet again, I ran as fast as my feet could possibly take me, down the street of this perfect neighbourhood of tall houses with polished cars and beautiful paint jobs. 

After about 5 minutes of running, I found myself in a less fancy neighbourhood, but still average houses. It was nice. Like there was less social pressure to be the best house it the street. 

I soon made it to a railway track by sunset and walked along it for a while. I looked behind me a couple hundred times, scared that my parents were going to get me and beat me, but they were never there. It was strange being so out in the open. I kept reaching for my phone that I no longer had just to check the time out of habit. 

If I was still at that hell hole, I would be due to finish my homework in about 12 minutes and then downstairs for dinner. But instead, I was strolling along a railway track at sunset without a care in the world. I could get use to this. It felt like freedom and I loved it. I-

My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps running fast towards me from behind me. Oh god, they've found me. I knew I couldn't get away so I didn't even bother to look. I curled up into a ball and mentally prepared to be beaten. There was no escaping.

//There was no escaping//

~ Yours Truly ~