I Wish...

Chapter 1

"It's all your fault!"

"I-I'm sorry! Please don't!"

"It's all your fault that she died!"

I sat cowering in the corner of the living room. My father towered over me drunk, as usual. His face was bright red, veins popping out of his neck from yelling so hard, spit caught in his beard, his brown hair all messy. His small beer gut jiggled as he yelled. His dark green shirt was covered in stains, as were his jeans. Where the stains had come from, I had no idea.

For a second he looked away, and that's when I took my chance. I shot up and ran towards the stairs, but he quickly grabbed ahold of my long black hair and yanked, causing me to fly back into him. He held me to him and leaned in close, the smell of alcohol on his breath made my stomach twist. My scalp stung from where he yanked my hair and still held it. I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled some of it out. He was so close that I could see the hint of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and his breath was heavy in my ear. I was so scared I probably could have passed out. I wished for it at this point. I knew what happened next.

"Did I say you could leave?" he whispered angrily. And that's where it got dangerous. When he lowered his voice in anger, I was done for. Because whenever he whispered, he got more violent. My fear doubled. He hadn't been this angry in months. Last time ended with me in the hospital. I shouldn't have tried to run. If I hadn't, I may have gotten away with only a few bruises. Wrong move Sera, wrong move.

Suddenly he pushed me into the wall, my head knocking against it and making me dizzy. Immediately, I felt blood drip down my forehead. Before I could shake the dizziness off, he punched me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me. Groaning in pain, I tried to breathe but wasn't given a chance as he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled so I was standing straight again.

"You're the reason I'm like this," he spit angrily, "You're so stupid, ugly, and fat. You're the reason she's gone!" He threw me onto the ground before kicking me in the stomach. Tears ran down my face, but it wasn't because of the pain. I was used to it by now. It was because of the words he spoke. They were all true. It was my fault and I was stupid, ugly, and fat, useless too. I didn't use to think this way though. I thought I was decent looking and rather smart. But when your father tells you those things over and over, you eventually start to believe them.

I curled in on myself, hoping to protect myself from the next blow. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the pain that I already had, but another never came. Confused, I opened my eyes to see him walking away. What was he doing? Why'd he just walk away? As confused as I was, relief flooded my senses. Was it over? I watched with lingering fear as he continued to walk away. It was possible that he could just turn around and continue. As he turned into the kitchen, it hit me. He was getting another drink.

Despite the pain, I shot up once again and ran to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I took a minute to breathe, the tears still running down my face. Once my breathing steadied I headed to the bathroom that was connected to my bedroom and grabbed the first aid kit I kept in there. Putting pressure on the cut, I got it to stop bleeding. Thankfully, I hadn't lost much blood, but there was a chance I could have a concussion. Nothing new.

I wet a towel in the sink and wiped the blood away before disinfecting it and placing a band-aid on it. Luckily it wasn't that bad this time. After so many times of having to do this, I've gotten pretty good at it. I lifted my shirt to find a large bruise already forming on my stomach where he had kicked me. I stared at the bruise before moving on and looking at all of the other scars painting my skin.

Following the pattern, I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and looked at all of the scars there as well. Tears welled up in my eyes again, my heart aching. I couldn't help it. The memories were so painful. I could remember what had happened for each and every scar. There was one particular scar on my arm that always brought tears to my eyes. It was the biggest one that I had.

I was just getting home from my friend's house, and I was running to my room for cover when I had accidentally knocked his bottle of whiskey off of the table. It fell to the floor and broke, the whiskey and glass splattering all over the floor. He was furious with me. He shoved me onto the floor and grabbed a shard of the broken bottle. He dragged it down my arm, cutting it open so deep that I needed stitches. He fed the hospital some lie about me tripping with a glass in my hand and they easily bought it and fixed me up.

Finally exiting the bathroom, I laid down on my bed and continued to let out silent tears. I learned how to cry without making any noise a long time ago. If he heard you crying he would come back for round two. I stared at my ceiling as if I could see through it, up past the clouds, and into heaven. That's where my mom was.

I began to speak quietly, I did this almost every night. "Hey, mom. It's me again. Do you remember that tomorrow is going to be my fourteenth birthday? It'll also be one year since you died. I miss you so much. It's getting hard to remember your voice." I paused for a while, thinking of what to say next.

"Mom? What was dad like before you died? I can't remember it anymore." The tears streamed down my face. "He's right though, mom. It's my fault that you're gone now. I am ugly and fat and stupid. I'm sorry mom. I hope you're happy up there."

I apologized like this every night. She deserved more than that, but it was all I could offer. I couldn't go back and fix what I had done. If only I hadn't... been so selfish... she would still be here.

Getting up and turning out the light, I crawled back into my bed and laid down. It didn't take me long before I drifted off to sleep and started dreaming, the only place where I could truly be happy.

To Be Continued...