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It's December 11th at 12:34 AM. I should be sleeping because I have school tomorrow, but I'm stuck on hope that I'll have a snow day or some kind of accident that will take away me having to go. I'm sitting in my bed staring at the wall, hoping to God for something to happen. I don't know why I'm doing that. I don't believe in God. I've tried to before. He doesn't exist. He's never answered me. He's never helped me. I'm still where I was four years ago.

It's now 12:37 AM. I'm rocking back and forth and my bed starts to creak. I stop when I hear a noise downstairs. Footsteps. It's him. I want to walk downstairs and punch him. I want to take a knife and stab him to death. I hope he burns his hand while he's eating the last of our food. After all, he's the one who burned my insides when I didn't eat for two weeks because of him.

It's 12:39 and I'm scaring myself. I'm stuck on hope that not only I'll die before 7 AM, but so will he. I'm stuck on hope that everything will get better and my family will be with peace. I hear the bathroom door creak open. I hope the shower curtain falls on top of his head. I hope the dryer explodes when he walks in there. I hope the toilet overflows onto his feet and the water is toxic.

I want him to die.

I may be terrible for wanting that. I've spent 15 years of my life loving him. Of course I love him, but I can't continue to act like I'm okay with him hurting us.

It's 12:42 and I realized I'm a slow thinker. I stand up and walk over to my door. I balance the light switch between on and off. it's blinking fast. I shake. Everything's dark now.

I walk back to my bed, scared of the monsters hiding in the dark. The walls are caving in on me. Only the light from my alarm clock is here to save me. I put the blanket over my toes, because I somehow think that will stop anything from hurting me.

it's 12:44. It's been 10 minutes and I'm worn out. I shut my eyes and nothing yet everything is dark.

I dream of him.