Practice Makes Perfect

Prologue

**Warning: strong profane language in this part.**

I heard the door slam and I flinched, hurrying to the kitchen to set out a cup of water. I quickly yanked open the medicine cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Advil, setting two tablets on the counter before replacing the lid and setting the bottle back in its spot.

Sean wobbled into the kitchen and slammed his hand down on the counter. "Where's my dinner?" He demanded sternly, but his voice is slurred from drinking.

"I-I ordered pizza. It's in the living room," I responded quickly and carefully. You could never be too careful with this guy when he was drunk; he would start to swing if anyone, typically me, did or said something that made him mad. And when he got mad, I mean raging.

"Better have left me an entire box to wash down this liquor." He grumbled threateningly on his way to the living room. I sighed in relief, remembering that I ordered an extra box of his favorite. Just a few more hours, Miranda, then no more putting up with this, I reminded myself quietly. I grabbed a diet coke from the fridge and took it out to the living room where Sean was already chowing down on two slices at once.

"Game's on. Ya ordered my favorite, thanks bitch."

"Mhmm," I murmured quietly and held out the diet coke to him. He stared at it, then me. The soda, then me.

"You think I'm fat?" Sean slurred. "You think I need to go on a diet?!"

"No, Sean, diet cokes don't have as much caffeine and-"

"I DON'T NEED TO GO ON A DIET!" He accused and slammed his plate down on the coffee table. He raised his fist and knocked the soda out of my hand, causing it to fall to the floor and burst open, creating a fizzy mess.

"No! Sean, calm down! You're drunk!" I tried to reason with him, but he kept swinging, as predicted. He planted firm blows on my arms, shoulders, he threw my mother's vase to the wall and smashed it. Eventually he calmed down and went up to his room, leaving me as a sobbing mess on the floor, trying to clean up this wreck before I left when he passed out.

As soon as the last shard of vase was dumped into the garbage can, I quietly made my way up the stairs, water and Advil in hand. I took a peek into Sean's room and carefully took a step inside. He's out cold.

I sighed inwardly, relieved that I could finally leave this place. With extreme caution, I set the water and Advil on his bedside table, inching my way back out of his room and closing the door quietly behind me. I crept my way down the stairs and eased the front closet open, wincing as it creaks loudly. I looked at the stairs, terror rushing through my bones. After a few minutes of silence, I pulled the door open the rest of the way and pulled my few bags of luggage out of the closet. I carefully pushed the door back closed, making sure that it clicked back into place quietly.

I slung my purse over my shoulder, making sure that I had my one way airline ticket to the Heathrow airport in London. I dragged my luggage out of the front door and tossed them into the backseat of my car, quickly running back up to the door to lock it. Sean had done some pretty horrible things to me, but that didn't mean he should've been robbed or murdered in his the middle of the night. I unhooked the house key from my key ring and placed it under the Welcome mat, hurrying back to my car and hopping into the driver's seat. I sighed and put the key into the ignition, turning it and bringing the car to life. I backed out of the driveway and began to drive to the airport, not looking back at the house that still holds so many bad memories. It really felt quaint, leaving that place behind. I'd never tried to leave before, and I felt a weight being lifted from my shoulders. I was never going back.