City Of Evil

Bat Country / Ch.1

     Scar's POV:

         I buried my face in a pillow as glass shattered in the other room. Even through a wall, the sounds of a fight emerging was sickening.

        "God dammit, Karen!!" My father's rabid voice rang out, "You can never do anything right!"

        My mom spoke calmly but wearily, "David, perhaps you've had too much to drink. Just calm down."

        "Don't tell me to calm down!" He snapped, "I'm tired of this bullshit!"

        My mother's straining voice chimed in, "You know what, I'm tired of this bullshit too! Every night this week you've come home wasted expecting me to wait on you like your own little maid! You've got a fucking problem!"

        "Bitch!" My father spat, "I'm not the one with the problem."

        And with that, I heard a slap and a punch. This is when things get real scary. My dad cannot control himself when he's angry and drunk. 

        "D-David!" My mother gasped and choked, "I'm sorry!"

        "Oh, you will be!" He howled. I heard a thud and more glass breaking.

        My mother's yelps and screams drew me into the room. I couldn't just sit there and let my dad beat the shit out of my mom.

        But I was too late. My mom was pinned to the floor in a headlock. My dad lying on top of her with a gun held to her temple. "Told you, you'd be sorry." My fathers words stung my ears. The sound of a pistol being fired echoed through my skull and shot shivers down my spine. I stood frozen, stuck in a paralysis, and all I could do was watch the life trickle out of my mother's body. Completely helpless. 

-

        I woke in a panic, huffing and puffing. Tears formed in my eyes as I relived the horrible night of my mother's demise. I began to shiver as the cold midnight air chilled the sweat on my back and froze the beads on my forehead. "It was just a dream." I breathed hard, trying to calm myself. "No. It was a fucking memory, dumbass!" I cursed punching my thin thighs hard enough to give a good sting. I decided it's probably best to get some fresh air before I do something regretful. 

         Rummaging through my car, I found my oversized, black zip hoodie and my Converse. I look in the mirror to see a set of big, brown eyes staring back. I quickly re-draw the thick line of liquid eyeliner on my top eyelids and brush my waist length, layered, light brown hair. My eyes scan my face, they're drawn to the scar running from the outer corner of my eye to the base of my ear. I shutter at the sight of it. Pulling at my bangs, I position them to hide the everlasting reminder of a terrible night. 

        I would've just left my looks alone, but you never know what you'll come across in Los Angeles. And now I realize why most people don't believe me when I tell them I'm homeless, other than the whole underweight thing, I look pretty normal.

        I force myself into the chilling night, lock my car, and head out for a midnight walk. Usually I'd be scared to walk around in Los Angeles alone at night, being I'm a vulnerable, 22 year old woman barely above the 5 foot mark and just over 100 pounds, but I kinda have this whole 'what else do I have to lose' mindset going on right now. 

         My life has been pretty shitty for the past five years, if I say so myself. My dad has always had a drinking and abuse problem, but that was something I could deal with. My mom being murdered in front of my eyes, on the other hand, was just too much for me. I was 17 when I was thrown into foster care. There, they drugged me up on depression meds because I had stopped eating and began to self harm. I ate more pills than food. I had plummeted into a deep, black pool of depression. Every night my head was filled with nightmares of the murder so vivid even the retched smell of alcohol from my father's breath was spot on. I lived there for a month before deciding I was better off on my own, so I lived with my friend Melissa until we finished school. Now I'm here, walking the lonely streets of Los Angeles alone. Homeless, jobless, and hopeless.