To Be Home.

2.

Finally the day we've all been waiting for.
The day I've been waiting for most of all.
My birthday.
Birthdays are supposed to be the best day of the year.
But for me, my birthday was the day I dreaded most of all.
But not this one.
This one changed my life. I don't wanna say for the better, but it did change me.
I wish I didn't have to leave the way I did.
But I will never regret leaving at all.

3 months prior

I woke up to the sound of my step father yelling about who knows what, uninterested in what was going on outside of my door, I just sat there for a minute. Back against the wall. I think about something calm, a trick my mom taught me when I was younger. I think about a barn.

I hate barns.

They feel itchy, and they smell weird. But there's something about the way an orange sunset looks behind a barn that makes me feel hopeful. Maybe I'm crazy.

I'm probably crazy.

I sat on my mattress until whoever my stepfather was yelling at finally left, at least I had assumed they left because when I got out of my head everything was quiet. I slowly get up. Trying not to make too much noise, although it's hard with the creek of every floor board louder then the last.

When I walk out. What I see, I can never forget, I couldn't let myself.
It was my step father, hovering over my mother, his forearms were on the ground and he was weeping.
At first I assumed she was unconscious.
Until I realized she wasn't.
Everything went slow.
I can remember every detail.

The way my mother's stomach laid still.
The way her eyes stuck open.
The trickling of the rain on the tinted window.
The heavy breathing of my killer step-father.
The hot tears running down my face.
The burning in my throat.

It was all blurry and confusing.
My initial reaction was to run to her.
To try to help her.
But I couldn't, I couldn't move.
No matter how hard I tried.
No matter how loud my brain screamed.
I couldn't.
I was stuck.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of standing. Staring. I moved, slowly, step by step. I walked behind the counter, out of view of the killer. I crept until I could see. The dark liquid surrounding her set something off in me.

I was definitely crazy.

Sadness turned into anger. All I could think about was how he killed her.
He killed her with me in the other room.
I was probably next.
That thought made my heart beat impossibly faster.

So I did it.

I grabbed a knife sitting in the sink. It wasn't that sharp but I didn't care, I wanted to hurt him. Like he had just hurt me. I gripped it tight.

I charged at him with the knife in my hand and my mother in my mind. I dug the knife into his shoulder.

I should've got his neck.

It did nothing.
Only caused more damage.
He stumbled back for a second and the knife fell out of his arm. Before I knew it I was being tacked to the ground.
Hard.
I yelled at him to let me go, but he wouldn't.
His grip only got tighter on my neck.
I couldn't breathe. My vision was getting darker. I was dying.

I struggled underneath the weight of a killer.

After about 30 seconds of fighting, I gave up.
I was done.

Happy birthday to me.