Almost

Rosie

It was the winter of 2018. The ground was covered in snow, the trees were bare. Almost every street you walked down was filled with the smell of burning wood from fireplaces. Most people were inside, cuddled up under a blanket and watching a movie with their family or significant other. 

Except for the Wood household. 

Allan Wood was drunk out of his mind 95% of the time. During the other 5% of his life, he was asleep on the old, musty couch in the living room. His work shirt would be unbuttoned revealing a stained, "used to be white" tank top. His mouth stayed open causing slight snores to leave his mouth. Empty beer bottles surrounded him, and a broken one usually sat in his hand. Meanwhile, his daughter Rosalind sat up in her room, either putting bandages on new wounds or ointment on old ones. 

Her wounds were always hidden, either with long sleeves or a few chunky bracelets and necklaces. She never told anyone what her father would do, in all honesty she had no one to tell. 

Kingsville was a small town. Everybody knew everybody, but no one talked to Rosalind. Her father was the high-schools custodian, meaning he was home when she was and he was in school when she was. He was always watching her, always making sure he knew what she was doing and where she was. The only time she had her freedom, was in the night. 

The night brought Rosalind solace. Her house would grow quiet, apart from the faint snores coming from the living room. Her window would usually be cracked open, letting in the cool breeze and the rain that usually occurred. Most people didn't like the rain, but growing up in Seattle her whole life, it was something she had grown fond of. Across from her window was a small chalkboard with a countdown to Christmas written in red chalk, a bag full of clothes lied underneath it. 

-----------------------

December 23rd, 2018, 10:43pm

Rosalind walked upstairs and into her bedroom, blood beginning to spill from a cut on her arm. She walked into her connected bathroom with a straight face, not letting the slightest bit of emotion show. "One more day." She muttered to herself, feeling the slightest tinge of hope enter her body. She ran her arm under the sink and wrapped a bandage around the cut. She could hear bottles crashing from the living room and the quiet yet harsh mumbling of her father. Rosie slipped out of her bathroom and locked her bedroom door, not wanting to have to clean up another cut, which is what would happen if her father made it through her door. 

The door was her protection. Just the simple click of the lock has saved her life multiple times. However there will always be the few times her father has made it through the door before she locked it, and the one time he made it through the locked door. But having that lock, having that door, is what helps her sleep at night. Rosalind looked over at the bag sitting in the corner of her room. It was light, only having some money, a water bottle, and change of clothes. If she had to run she didn't want to be weighed down. The teenage girl crawled into her small bed and turned off the light, waiting for the morning, knowing that she could finally be free.