Sometimes...

~ Chapter 8 ~

"Fuck you and your worthless mother! You are both fucking cunts!" I heard my step-dad yell. How could I not hear it? He was inches from my face, the smell of alcohol on his breath.

My mom was laying against the wall. Glass from a broken beer bottle cut deep into her arm and thigh, but that meant nothing to her, as nothing did. I watched her as she watched me get beat.

His rugged elbow went straight down into my gut. I huddled into a ball to try to keep that spot from being hit again,  and I was starting to hurl in my mouth. 

I wanted to scream in pain, hope the neighbors would hear me. Last time I tried that I got beat even longer, which didn't seem possible at the time, but it happened. My mom couldn't call the cops without my step-dad killing her, if not barely letting her live. Neither of us could do a thing, except watch as our bones cracked and blood ran down our skin.

We didn't have much of anything in our trailer, but somehow he managed to find something. Our little bathroom mirror came crashing down, hitting more empty beer bottles and making glass fly like fireworks. 

He pulled me up by my hair, screaming again.

"You both need God damn jobs! Look at this place! Your fucking mother can't do shit except sit on her lazy ass all day! You're going to grow up and become just like her! Learn some fucking responsibility!"

I was so afraid. I wanted it to be over.

He took off his belt and starting whipping me. My back ached and all I could see was darkness. 

"Let's go!" He screamed to my mom. He threw me down and went to go pick up her. His giant hand squeezed her arm, pushing the glass deeper. He dragged her to the bedroom.

I lay on the floor for awhile, trying to regain my strength. Every bone ached, tears swelled up in my eyes, and all I could do was lay there and be helpless.

I heard banging coming from my mom's bedroom, which woke me up. I knew what was going on.

I slowly got up, heart racing and head pounding. I made it to my room on the other side of the trailer and pulled out a piece of paper.

I couldn't count how many times I have stared, how many times I have read the message at the bottom.

It was us - my family. My original, happy family.

My dad was in his army suit with his arm wrapped around my mother. I was just a kid, maybe four or five years old, being hugged by the dad with his other arm. On the bottom, in his distinct writing, it read, "I love you, Kori. Take care of your Mom and yourself for me."

He wrote that the day he went to serve.

Out of my Mom's grief, she started doing drugs, not to mention move on to unworthy men. My step-dad being one of them.

He... rapes her, abuses her, abuses me... and yet stays with him. I know she's afraid, because I am too, but one day he's not going to hold back. I don't want to stare that day dead in the face.

I stay home each day to clean. I haven't been to school since my dad left. My mom sits back and injects death into her veins. My step-dad goes and spends whatever he can on alcohol, meeting his friends at any local bar. 

Sometimes I would go into my room and try to escape reality. Other times I would break down, my soul wanting to break free from this broken body. Bethany, my imaginary friend, would try to keep the positives in my focus.

Although, Bethany soon died.

It was a night similar to those before, yet there was one thing that made this night different.