Broken Home

1

School isn't something that I thrive at and saying that is an understatement. I am currently a scholarship holder at one of the most prestigious schools for sport in London. I have to attend school in a crisply ironed shirt and tie, every day of which must be tucked into my trousers. But let us not forget about the top button which must always be fastened. Everything has to be perfect, but I'm not perfect. I'm actually very far from it. I'm not a dumb kid but I decide to use my knowledge in other ways. Until I was warned by my English teacher, Mrs Dodd, that I would need to step my game up.

Mrs Dodd is one of those teachers who is a pain, everything about her gets on my nerves. She speaks in a funny accent and she doesn't pronounce words properly. Her spelling is a whole other story. I don't know how she graduated from University. I was in the back row of our English class with my mate and we were throwing our spelling worksheets into the recycling bin. I didn't find the work and the basic spelling rules important but Mrs Dodd certainly did. She had her back turned and was writing on the board when I made the latest attempt to throw my work into the bin. I spun around in my chair and as I jumped off the chair I threw the scrunched up paper in the direction of the bin, silently pretending I was Steph Curry who was lining up to take the winning free throw, if successful, but of course I wasn't. From previous experiences, paper doesn't hurt when it hits you, but Mrs Dodd acted as though it was a bullet that had missed her by a millimetre. Like the millimetre that it had missed the bin by.

"Who threw that?" Mrs Dodd said, speaking in an accent that seemed to be crossed with Indian and American. When she said threw it sounded as though she said drew.

The whole class erupted with laughter, because of the sound of Mrs Dodd's voice. Nobody replied to her question and I rested my head on the table, trying to hide my smile.

"Harry was that you?" Mrs Dodd asked, looking me right in the eye, or trying to find them. My head perked up slightly when Mrs Dodd said my name but my brown curly hair had taken residence over my emerald eyes.

"Wait here after class please, Mr Sinnett," Mrs Dodd replied to her own question, clearly not waiting for an answer. I jumped out of my seat to protest but Mrs Dodd held up her hand indicating she didn't want to hear any of it.

The rest of the lesson was a nightmare. I did the worksheet but I just circled random answers which earned me a shake of the head and a nasty look from Mrs Dodd. When the class ended, I got up intending to blend in with the crowd but Mrs Dodd went around checking everyone's homework, which should have been done the night before. I asked Josh, my best mate, to scribble me a note from our head of house, Mr Gribon. Mr Gribon was a jolly old guy but he also had a terrible memory and terrible handwriting. I walked behind Josh and held out my note and hid my face behind Josh, who was walking paces in front of me, but Mrs Dodd saw me. So I burst into a run. Even though she was in a skirt that was too short and a blouse that was too tight, she was keeping  up with me just fine. My original plan was to run home, but I changed my route. Teachers couldn't come into the students' bathroom but Mrs Dodd didn't seem to care that she was breaking the rules. I locked myself in a cubicle, which was below the window, dumped my bag on the floor and prepared myself for the lecture that was sure to come, and it did.

"You are a smart kid, but you have to realise that your sport will eventually suffer because of your behaviour. Your parents will be informed of this little stunt, Mr Sinnett," Mrs Dodd finished, slamming the toilet door behind her. I had now missed my bus and Josh had already left, so I plugged in my earphones, picked up my bag and started the long walk home.

Music helps me calm down, it takes me to a safer place. I had finished the seven mile walk from school to home in just under 3 hours. I opened the door slightly to hear mum screaming and dad shouting with a bottle of beer in his right hand and his left was violently slapping over mum's face, leaving blood and bruises as a reminder of what happened. I didn't wait for dad to notice that I was home, I just jumped up behind him and forced him to move away from mum by tackling him to the ground. It took him a while to realise the intruder but once he did, he swung his elbow which landed perfectly on my nose. A clean break.

I shrieked in pain and fell down onto the ground, right beside where dad was laying. He quickly pushed himself from the floor but dropped his beer in the process. The glass shattered all of the floor and the contents was soaking its way through the stained, overused carpet. I lifted my hand to where I felt pain and I winced as I touched the damaged area. The anger and adrenaline that was surging through my body forced me to push the pain aside and stand up to dad. Dad was already planning his next move, pushing mum against the wall, creating a replica image as it was when I walked in. I rammed my broken body into his, which caught him off guard. The drunken man stumbled backwards and eventually fell over his own feet to land with a loud thud on his back.

His shouting became louder and clearer. Swearing in Russian.

I needed to get mum to a safe place, and when I saw the bathroom key on the kitchen counter, an idea sparked within.

I ran towards mum, who was shaking with terror, whom was unable to speak, and grabbed her arm. I hurried her into the bathroom, picking the key up on my way. Once she was inside, I locked the door and slid the key through the crack underneath so dad couldn't find his way in.

My once pristine school shirt was now stained with blood. I didn't care, I needed to find a way to calm dad down or call for help.

I could hear mum crying through the locked bathroom door only metres away from where I was standing. She was safer in there than she would've been out here.

Dad was slowly creeping up behind me but I didn't notice until his hand was around neck and my vision started to become blurred. My head was slammed against the wall but I wasn't going to show him that I was I pain.

We locked eyes for a split second but in that small amount of time I could see the rage building up. His usually small pupils now fully dilated. I closed my eyes, giving up struggling when dad suddenly let go.

Every day, this is what I came home to. Dad being violent towards mum. Dad does this on a regular basis, but mum and I are never brave enough to turn him in. As I opened my eyes, dad was banging on the bathroom door, making out like he was really apologetic and that he wanted to say sorry, but I knew that was just and act to bring mum out again. Home is supposed to be a safe place, but I don't feel safe anywhere.

"What's your problem? Leave her alone and get out of here," I yelled, trying really hard to keep my voice steady but it wobbled when I finished every word. Dad turned and looked at me and slowly started to minimise the gap between us both, and then he burst into a run. I moved in line with the front door and swung it open. Before dad could realise, he was running right out of the house and into the bush outside. I knew that he wasn't gone forever, but he was for now.

"Mum, you can come out now," I called out to her with a sigh of relief. When she emerged from the bathroom, her tear-stained face was covered in blood and scars. I rushed into the kitchen and to the freezer to get an ice pack for mum's face, knocking pots and pans over as I went. I handed mum the ice pack, but she didn't look very impressed.

"I got a call from Mrs Dodd today..." She began.

"Mum, I can explain," I interrupted.

"You need to get a grip. All of our family issues have gone to your head. I've booked a time for you to meet with the school psychologist," mum finished.

"I'm fine mum, I really am. You just need to focus on yourself and knowing that you're okay. You need to do something about dad, for your safety and mine, please."

There was silence for a moment and from the look on mum's face, I could tell that she wasn't going to do anything, anytime soon.

"Don't you have homework to do or something?" Mum asked, with a small tear forming in her eye.