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Chapter 4

Max hesitates momentarily before jumping over it and heading to his room to shut himself away. It is not his job to clean up after the fights. This falls to me and Chloe.

"Ya'll don't mind cleaning up the house would ya?" Momma paused for a moment. "I'm sick. I don't feel good."

I know she is only saying this in order to justify never cleaning up her own mess. I know that the reason she didn't move from her chair is because she had taken, drank, smoked, or shot something up her arm. Why doesn't she just kick him out again and make him stay away?! Despite this, I give a weak smiled and tell her I will do it. She rises from her chair stumbling a little as she heads into her bedroom.

Chloe lets out a frustrated sigh and steps over the blood. She walks towards the living room. She throws her book onto the couch.

"Raven, go get the broom for me," she says walking to her bedroom. I walk the other way to the kitchen. I grab the broom from beside the fridge and wait on her. A few minutes later she comes back to the dining room.

"You haven't done anything!" she yells motioning towards the mess. I look around at the mess then back at her.

"I was waiting on you." Chloe ignores me and snatches the broom away from me. She begins sweeping up the glass in a small pile. As always, I go clean up the blood. I grab several paper towels, wet them, and begin scrubbing the floor until it is all gone. Chloe and I have created a routine now when we clean up these kind of messes. She cleans the glass and I clean up the blood.

Once the mess is clean, I go to the living room. I plop down on the couch and turn the television on. Television is the only means of escape from my surroundings. A few hours later Matt comes home. He scurries into the kitchen for a while before returning to the living room and plopping down on the couch.

Momma comes out of the bedroom dressed nicely. Surprisingly, she looks decent. There are no noticeable bruises on her body. She must have covered them up with makeup. She grabs her purse off the coffee table.

"I have to go to the post office and the grocery store," she says turning around to face Matt. His face twists in irritation.

"No you're not," he yells. "You're not going no god _____ where."

"Why not? I need-"

"You're not wasting gas on that," he yells getting up from his seat and taking his stance. I know this stance. I know it all too well. This is my cue to leave. I hurry to my bedroom, slam my door and use an old board to block it. 

There is no way I can allow myself to get caught up in the crossfire. I slowly back away from the door as the sound of their shouting intensifies. I crawl into my bed and place my hands over my ears but I can still hear the muffled noise coming from the living room. The trailer walls are so thin you cannot block it out. I have grown so tired of this. I hate listening to them, but I cannot get away from it. . I wish I could just throw a switch and turn off their arguing and fighting. Oh how I wish I could just turn it all off.

The sound of hitting and slapping. Glass breaking. My only thought about the mess I am going to have to clean up but I can clean it tomorrow. My room is the safest place to be at the moment. I can go hungry again tonight. It is not worth the risk.