I've been walking for hours, and frankly, it hasn't helped in the slightest. I think I'm somewhere in downtown Belleville, but I can't be too sure at this point. When I left, mom had hit dad, and my cheek was still stinging from my dad's awfully strong swing.
A car honks, and I wave apologetically, not realizing that I was straying into the street. I was too occupied with my thoughts to really care, I think. My dad's slurred threats came crashing into my thoughts, and I bit my lip, hugging myself tightly against the cold weather and the painfully fresh memories.
I can't keep walking anymore. I sit down beside the road, cars occasionally passing and making me shiver. I sit in the 20°F weather in a newly torn white sundress and no shoes or jacket, my knees pulled to my chest in hopes to warm myself with whatever body heat I could contain. It didn't work to well, but I don't exactly mind at the moment.
I start to cry, but I didn't stop it. My cheeks were warmed by the warm salty tears that rolled down my reddened cheeks. I just sat there in eerie silence, staring at my feet until my eyelids got too heavy to keep open. I let them close, and I fell asleep with the sweet memories of booze and screams.
YOU ARE READING
Probably the Best Thing
General FictionIf you ever think you're having a bad day, just try having an eternity of them, and a lame haircut to match.
