At Her Weakest

In Which She Runs

I winced at the sudden increase of the yelling voices downstairs. Merely her mom and sister fighting about something. Though someone with a normal family would probably be scared as shit being cooped up in their bedroom, with nothing but a blanket and a stuffed teddy bear to assure them that someone wasn't going to be killed, I was a bit too used to these kind of situations to be frightened.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "A stuffed teddy bear? How old are you, 12?" I would've thought that many years ago, when my sister was still a sophomore in high school, if someone told me that. But it's been one of my only sources of comfort these days. Along with my electronics.

See, my sister was really fucking stubborn. She'd come home from parties an hour or two later than she had said to my parents, she constantly was trying to pick a fight, and she over-analyzed every damn thing.

Now, my mom on the other hand, drank a lot. Sure, my dad did too, of course, but I won't be describing him, because to put it simply, he was just a small candle to the explosive combination of my mother and sister fighting. But when my mom did drink, well, let's say she would not back down from those fights that had been started. Plus the fact that she compared people with others a hell of a lot, which was a major pet peeve of my sister.

That all started four years ago, when I actually was twelve. Back then, I had a dog, which constantly ripped apart my toys, so I only have good old Sebastian the Soft Squishy Bear these days, but let's just say that the dog had died.

Product of you-know-what. And if you don't, well. The fighting.

Four years later, and my parents drinking problems soared over the edge. The only reason I haven't been involved in the fights, for the most part, is because my sister is still around, as well as the fact that I have never lived a little because of this.

If you've done the math, well, you'd realize my sister should be in college around about now, and you're right. Thing is, she didn't have top scores, and our family is particularly poor. So of course, she attends Rundhin College, which is both local, public, and very cheap.

"See, look at you! You're threatening to choke me to death, 'Dad'! And you say I have the nerves to argue with you?" My sister yelled. I took a spare pillow sitting next to me, and covered my ears.

"Well, a bitch like you deserves it!" My mom said, mockingly. And so starts the moment when the meaningless name-calling starts.

My eyes started to tear up a bit. Just because they fought, didn't mean I didn't love them. I hated when they insulted each other. "Just go to sleep, just go to sleep..." I said mumbling.

What I heard next made me freeze, though. A smash of a bottle, accompanied by a loud caterwaul. I was done. It would be like this for four more years, how the hell could I survive this. I quickly shoved some clothes, money (I had quite a lot because I used to teach kids how to program, which brought in a whole lot of moolah), my laptop, phone, along with other things into a backpack. Hey, when I said poor, I meant too poor to afford college, not too poor to get 'basic necessities for any American teenager'.

Yeah, I was running away, like a wimp, for something that hardly involved me. But it wasn't like I had a social life (Constantly mocked, with a "friend" group that plain pisses me off). It wasn't like I had any chance at getting a legit job (Hours upon hours of potential studying wasted playing games. It wasn't like the current situation my sister was in wouldn't happen to me (The attitude seemed to be hereditary). It wasn't like I hadn't scarred myself for my retarded life (Over-reaction, I know).

But I was scared. Scared as hell, and I felt like pretty soon I would kill myself if I stayed there any longer. Would I live without any familial support? Probably not. Was I just acting self-centered? Definitely. Did I stop to even think about how my family would react? Yes, I knew it would tear them apart, but at that moment, I was thinking only about myself.

And so, on that night, I escaped that house, my eyes red and puffy, a hoodie tossed over my head, a backpack slung over my shoulder, heading towards a direction filled with the one thing that made me truly happy.

I, Valerie Winston, had reached my breaking point, and there was nothing I could do about it, except cry.

Well, then. That's where our story starts. By the way, if you think it's odd for some user to just randomly pop up onto Wattpad, and post a story...I've been on this website for like a year x3

It's just...I don't want my friends discovering this story, for personal reasons. So I...Made a new account o_o

Wattpad is a perfect place to post this. Where I can get small input, and not expect any major traffic. That happened to a story of mine, on fanfiction.net. Suffice to say, I just didn't really like the major feedback pouring in, weird as that sounds.

I don't even know where the hell this story came from. Don't even know where the hell I'll end up with it.

If you enjoyed the story so far, for whatever weird reason, don't feel afraid to vote, comment, what you shall feel necessary to show any form of appreciation ^~^

Don't even have a legit category. Guess I'll just stuff it into teen fiction!