Working for Mr. Bennington

Big hangover

I woke up slowly opening my eyes the next morning. I feel like my head was going to explode from this headache. I sat up in the bed with my feet on the floor. Resting my head in my hands. 

"This is never happening again. Ugh I feel awful." I said to myself. 

"Morning baby girl." I heard a voice behind me. I looked behind me and Chester was sitting on the edge of my bed, not facing me.

"Hey. How did I get here?"

"I brought you here. Jason took advantage of you and I pulled him off of you. And you said you want to come here."

"Oh yeah. I remember that." 

I fell back on the bed and hold my head.

"My head is spinning."

"Baby girl. Is it true what you said about your dad hitting you when he's drunk?"

"What?" I frowned at his question.

"Cause according to these poems you wrote I can see it is."

I sat up on the bed and looked his way. I saw he had my journal I write my poems in, in his hand. He was busy reading the poem I wrote when my dad hit me the day of the interview. I shook my head trying to think of what I must say. But my head was just hurting too much from the hangover.

'I smell the whiskey on your breath. And you beg for me to put your temper to the test. You slap me around and call me names. Dad, I'm sick of playing these games. One day it's going to end up getting worse. It hurts me how you yell and curse. Stop it, before it's too late. Dad, this is not your fate. You used to care. You used to be there. Now you've gone away. Dad, please stop today. Bruises and hits. Temperamental fits. All is causing me pain. Dad, stop yelling. I'm not to blame. You're drinking away what's left of you. It's hurting me, and you're hurting me too. I've cried. I've begged. What more can I do? Dad, I've tried to help. And I've tried to still love you. It's hard when I'm neglected. When all I ever wanted was to be accepted. I know I'm not perfect, but look at you now. Dad, you've got to stop this somehow. You've beaten me down once more. My heart's broken, and I'm lying on the floor. How much more of this can I take? Dad, please. Give me a break.' That was the poem he was reading from what I could see.

I didn't know what to say. I can't think of anything. So I just went for what I was feeling. Hurt, angry, sad, I felt like crying. I wanted to scream, yell, so many things went through my head. I got up and took the journal from him.

"You went through my stuff?" I said in an angry voice. "Not that anyone cares." I turned away from him. I closed the book and held it against my chest with both my arms. I looked to the floor. "No one cares." I said softly trying to hold the tears back.

"You really think I'm asking because I don't care?" he snaps. His voice was sharp and the tears escape my eyes, rolling down my cheeks.

"You need to get your dad some help Emma." he said loud and in anger.

I turned around to face him. I threw the book on the bed. And I just snapped and let everything I was holding in come out.

"You have no right to look through my things Chester. You don't own me." I wasn't mad at him. I was just in general so angry. "You can't buy me things with your name on it and think you own me. You can't even ask me to be your girlfriend. And yes no one cares about me. My dad abuses me and then he can't even remember he did. He drinks so much that I can't even go to college and study what I really want to do. I dropped out cause he didn't pay and he rather used that money on booze. My brother doesn't even care that I'm walking around with these scars on me from my dad's hits. He doesn't even care to come help me, when I struggle every time with my dad. Taking hit after hit every time I'm trying to help him. He doesn't even care that his best friend is trying to get me to have sex with him. When I hate his guts. I've been hiding at my best friends house just to avoid all this pain that is inside me. But you help me through it Chester. With your music. You are the reason I haven't give up on myself yet." I stopped. I looked to the floor and I just let it out.