If We Cease To Believe In Love, Why Would We Want To Live?

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Chapter One

I sat, propped up on my bed, curled up in a ball. I could hear my parents screaming at each other downstairs, peering down to the hair that fell over my shoulders. My red hair was long and looked like fire in the night and day time.

My ocean blue eyes were outlined with an emerald green colour, making them look fake or covered. Everyone I saw asked me if I was wearing contact lenses, but I politely said no and changed the subject.

I was pulled out of my train of thought by hearing a crash downstairs. I held my legs up tighter to my body and rested my head on my knees. I just hoped that it wasn’t glass this time.

Closing my eyes, I covered my ears to stop the noise entering them. I was never really good with loud noises, even from a very young age and even with my ears covered I could still hear them. I thought about how often this happened, if it wasn’t a daily occurrence then it was a every two days or so situation.

But I prayed that they’d never get to the extent that they would hurt each other to the extreme. Then I heard an ear deafening scream, it was my Mom. Now I definitely knew that something was wrong. During their arguments, she always shouted in anger and so did my Dad. But I never heard her scream during one though.

 I carefully jumped down off of my bed and thrusts open my bedroom door to walk downstairs. I didn’t bother creeping down; if she needed my help then I’d try to be of use to her. Running down the steps I came to the scene with my Dad’s back to me and my mother cowering down on the floor. A knife in his hand, ready to slash open my mother’s throat.

 My Mom led on the floor defenceless and in complete fear of what my father was about to do to her. I didn’t know what to do though. I searched around for something to help my mother but I couldn’t see anything of great use. That is until I spotted it, a glass vase that my parents got for their wedding anniversary, sat on top of the cabinet. Before I could think, I carefully reached for the vase and smashed it against his head.

 The knife fell to the floor with a pang as he dropped it beside him and fell to the ground bleeding. I stood there in pure shock to what I had just done to my own father. Peering down to my hands I saw that they were covered in blood as well, holding my chest as it became tighter and harder to breathe.

My mother was now stood there, with wide eyes as her expression matched mine in shock. Quickly, she ran over to the dining room table and dragged a chair over and placed in up against the shelf cabinet where I‘d gotten the vase from. She then dragged my Dad’s bloody and unconscious body closer to the shelf and hoisted his body up so he was dangling over in the chair.

I could see her in pain and there were bruises all up her arms. She saw me staring intently at them and rolled down the sleeves of her top to conceal them and make them less noticeable.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"The police can’t know about what your father was going to do okay," she said sternly.

"What? Why not?" I shouted towards her as she spun round to face me.

"Just don’t say anything, okay. So keep your mouth shut!" she ordered me.

"Why should I! he could’ve killed you and all your saying to me is keep quiet!" I was yelling now, which for me is unusual.

"Keep a sock in it and when the police get here then act the innocent, it’s not that hard," she finished with.

She grabbed the phone off of the stand and dialled 911. I stayed where I was during her call, gobsmacked, what the hell was she doing?! Mom came off the phone and threw it down onto the sofa. She started pacing around the room like she was trying to muster up some brilliant excuse to feed to the police and medics.

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