22:30PM
Music was blasted from my parents room and had been for the last couple hours. No matter what part of the house I moved to or even if I went outside, it still reach my ears lie a siren.
I hated music because the majority of the music I'd ever heard was my parent's preference and almost every time they played it, they fought. I saw it was a wicked omen which I abhorred. So when surrounded by music no matter what I did, I couldn't help but feel on edge and constantly anticipating the worst.
I just sat outside our room door down the small passageway, glancing at it occasionally and hoping he'd come out or invite me in. I tried going earlier and talking or just trying to be out of his way but he found my presence irritating so I left. It was difficult but I eventually got into something I could lose myself in; drawing.
I recalled the time my brother had started drawing. We were watching Dragon Ball Z and I vividly recall his amazement of the animation. To him, it was marvellous how realistic and cool everything looked so he attempted to do the same. He'd draw the most iconic characters of the show; Goku and Vegeta and their various Super Saiyan forms.
I idolised every piece he made. He was very possessive of them so when he wasn't looking, I'd often take them and trace them so I could have a copy. Not too long after, I followed in his footsteps and started drawing the very same characters and I tried to imitate all the work he did.
I smiled fondly as I admired the work I was doing. I compared my reference, being his drawing, to my imitation. It wasn't any M ona Lisa but it was mine and I could see my hard work paying off.
But I had a tendency to scrutinize my work when compared to his . My outlines weren't as smooth as his. They were jagged and rough. The shading wasn't as smooth either whereas his was perfect and didn't ruin the texture of the page. His proportions were more realistic. I would dissect every mistake I made in relation to replicating his. And I hated every single thing.
Frustration overwhelmed me with the blaring music fueling my anxiety and the irritation of failing yet another drawing. I angrily tore my disgusting attempt and tossed it aside amongst the numerous other failures. The very sight of the lot had my blood boiling.
Then my anticipation finally collapsed on me and turned to pure, unfathomable fear as the door finally opened with a loud bang. Not our room door but the front door.
"What the fuck is going on here?!", my father's loud drunken voice confirmed my suspicions and I felt my heartbeat pick up drastically. Time seemed to slow down as his heavy uncoordinated footsteps lead him to the main bedroom. "Mary!", he shouted even louder than the music.
"What!?", her slurred yelled questioned and her light footsteps soon followed. I turned my head to the left, where the passage to the doorway intersects with the main bedroom. My father appeared first right in my line of sight with a dangerous sway but I could see the anger he moved with. I felt Deja vu.
''Why the fuck are you playing the music so damn loud?'', he questioned angrily. I turned my head back down to look at my brothers drawings.
''Because I fucking can I want to enjoy myself. If you have a problem then you can fucking go back to wherever you disappear to every fucking weekend.''. The sound of her voice over the blasting music was a surrounding and intrusive noise. I didn't want to hear this.
''WHO,'', he emphasized the word with rage and a pause. ''THE FUCK,'', he paused and raised his finger in her direction. ''pays the fucking rent here?''. Nostalgic images flashed through my mind painfully. I shut my eyes and tried to think in vein of something else.
''That deosn-'', a loud slap sound followed her abrupt cut off. I twisted my head painfully and gazed at the scene before me. My mother lay on the ground, her hand on her cheek as she stared upwards in my fathers eyes. He advanced towards her and stood above her menacingly.
''I ASKED YOU A QUESTION;'' His tendons stuck out on his neck from the intensity of his shout and the emotion. I felt tears begin to flow. I felt calm though. ''WHO THE FUCK PAYS THE RENT HERE?'', he questioned. She just stared back at his, her neck and head shaky probably from the adrenaline. Then she spat in his face.
For a second, they just stood there, staring at one another angrily and I gazed at them almost in dismal boredom. Then he grabbed her neck and harshly brought her against the wall. I jumped upwards feeling the adrenaline rush through me but I made no movements to step forward. I stared ahead, tears streaming down my face, heart racing and my body already shaking in anticipation. Surprisingly, my mind was clear.
Then he grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards the doorway and her shouts and yells of protest followed.
I felt my entire body heat up my legs to my neck as the adrenaline overflowed. My mind was clear and focused, ready to relay any command for my body to execute. My mothers desperate screams echoed throughout my entire being, fuelling my rush of adrenaline. Igniting my desire to want to help her. I wanted it more than anything and I wanted to hurt him for hurting her more than anything.
Then the door behind me crashed open loudly. I stopped in my path and turned to face my brother with a bitter sweet smile fighting the corners of my lips as I watched him advance. Relief flooded me. I realised I didn't have to deal with this alone. I turned to keep going before a firm hand grabbed my shoulder.
''Don't. Just stay out of it.'', he commanded and he must've seen the rebellious movement of body step forward, my mouth opened to argue, the urge to help someone in need, to let them know they weren't alone and help fight off their troubles, because his next words removed any notion of me continuing. ''I won't talk to you.'', with that, he went off.
My gaze fell to the floor. I felt conflicted, torn apart even. I questioned why he wouldn't let me help. Why did I want to help so badly that doing this made my heart and my head ache. Why did it feel like I was betraying a part of myself and being a hypocrite?
I turned around tiredly to move to the bedroom but I stopped as my gaze fell to his drawing by the entrance. The music seemed to stop and the background noises of shouts of struggle faded till it was only me and that cursed drawing. Something I once admired greatly, I now despised for how impossible it seemed.
After a while, I don't know how long, I picked up the drawing, tore it and tossed it with the rest of the pile.
