The Price To Pay

Chapter 10

Days. Weeks. Months. It's been three months since I moved out of the house. Three long months. Rosco's been treating me like a queen. His queen. Everything was coming up roses. Sure I had to wear the uniform as the others. But deep down, I was different.

    Slap! Slap! Crash! Was all I heard around the house. I knew what was happening, but if I got in it, i'd be next. But after a few days of this. I had to stand up to Rosco. "You need to stop hitting these girls like that." I explained. He stared. "They're not punching bags." Some of the girls whispered in the background. "What the hell is she doing?" What was I doing? Standing up to the highest power. Standing up to....God? He walked towards me. Fist clenched as if he was guarding something in them. He stood, then without question, he outstretched his hand and pounded the side of my face with it. My ears rung. The side of my face felt hot. I touched it to see if my ear was still there. Red, thick, liquid oozed from it. "Don't you ever talk to me like that, you hear me bitch?" Said Rosco, and walked off.

"Fuck you Rosco, I'm getting the hell out of here" He stopped, "Where you going? To your poor ass mama? She don't give a damn about you." he explained. I didn't have time for words. I stormed out the door and ran down the street. Funny, Rosco didn't even chase me.

     I ran. Run. Run. Run. That's all that rung in my head. Run. I ran until I saw it. The house. My house. The place where I should've stayed. The place I ignored three months ago. Home. I walked to the door. I still had my key in my bra just in case I needed my other things. I entered. It was horrible. Trash was everywhere. Bills were staked high on the living room table. And the smell, the smell was polluted by garbage. "Mom!" I called, excited to see her, and to beg her that  I want to come home. "Mom!" I called again, she didn't answer.  I ran to her bedroom. "Mom!" I chanted. I stopped. Dead in my tracks. There she was. Body outstretched on her bed. Shot, blank in the head. My mom, the person that raised me. The person that took all of my shit, the person who would jump off a cliff for me, was dead.