The Actress And The Beast (Post Malone story - completed)

Home Sweet Home

"Dad's gone off the rails. He took mom for a Dr's appointment and they diagnosed her with dementia. He left her at the Dr's and took off to a bar" he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat "I had to go pick her up then go find him"

"Mom's ill? How come no-one told me?"

"Why? Would you have come back?" he scoffs

"No I would have brought her to LA, tried to get her some help"

"You know she won't leave him" he sighs

"But she's ill, maybe I could talk her into it, them both"

"She's worse now. She's forgot the bad parts of him and if he gets angry she forgets that too" we start to get out of the truck. I considered bolting before I got in too deep.

"Well, well, well. Isabella" the slurred voice sent chills down my spine. I didn't even need to look up to know that his face was contourted into an evil smirk.

"Bella?" my mom's shocked tone made me look over to her. She looks tired, smaller than the last time I saw her. However one thing hasn't changed she's black and blue, they may not be the same ones but she's still covered in bruises. She runs out of my dad's clutches towards me, her frail arms outstretched. I let her wrap her cold arms around me and bury her head into my neck a she started to cry. "Oh Bella, I've missed you so much darling"

"Missed you too Mom" I hugged her back

"Don't lie to your mother Isabella" I looked over to my father as he lent against the door frame.

"I'm not lying" I snap. Before I could react my father had strode over and backhanded me in the street. I fell to the ground with a thud my mother still with her arms around me. I gritted my teeth and looked up at him. He gripped both me and my Mom and dragged us into the house, pushing us onto the  couch. I helped my Mom regain her posture and I looked around the room, the house was a mess. There where beer and whiskey bottles everywhere. It looked like my Mom had attempted to start the clean up as there was a bin bag sat near the front door. I heard my Dad storm off I to the kitchen, probably looking for another drink.

"Shit Bella are you okay? I didn't think he would start that straight away" he tilted my face up to check the swelling.

"When I saw you at the club I thought you might need some money Tom. Not this" I hiss at him "Why would you drag me back to this?"

"Bella I can't do this alone, I need your help. And he was going to come get you himself"

"Help with what? What can I do, take the hit instead of Mom ?" I hold my hand to my face "I send you all money. I pay for the house. What else do you want from me?"

"I don't know, Im just desperate. Desperate for it not to just be me that has to look after them" he sinks into the chair opposite us.

"You know I had to leave. I'd be dead if I had stayed. He nearly killed me last time. He broke 2 of my ribs and punctured my lung. And you just stood there and watched" I cross my arms over my torso

"I know I'm sorry" he hangs his head

"So what do we do now?" I pull my knees up to my chest. My Mom starts to stroke my hair.

"Darling you should stay,  I'll whip up your favourite. Pancakes with whipped cream"  she smiles like she hadn't just heard all that. I see her lip split,  she winces from the pain and she licks the blood away. She stands and makes her way into the kitchen. I hear my Dad snapping at her like he has always done. I wince when I hear him slap his fists against the kichen table.

"Do I still have clothes here?" I mumble

"Your rooms not been touched"  Tom tries to smile. I just nod and pull myself up to go to my old bedroom. I feel sick as I climb the stairs. Last time I was here he dragged me by my hair down the stairs. There was no reason for it. He just decided that I was in the way as usual, a waste of space. So he was taking out the trash. He was so drunk that day. I still can't smell Jameson whiskey without getting a horrendous headache.

I opened the door to my bedroom, it was like someone had just closed the door that day and had never opened it since. The comforter was still half on the bed from when he dragged me out of bed. My phone still lay on the floor smashed, from when he threw it against the wall  then stood on it. The room was like a shrine to my childhood. Posters of me all over the walls. My dad was obcessed with my early career. Wouldn't let us take them down. He hated the fact I grew up. When I got too old to do Disney anymore he turned on me like he used to turn on my Mom.

I couldn't remember a time when he didn't hit my Mom. I don't know how we hid it all those years. How no-one figured out what he was like. He didn't touch me untill I finished working with Disney and I didn't have regular work. Most of the time he didn't hit me anywhere that couldn't be covered but every now and again he would go into such a rage that he'd forget and hit me in the face. I lost work because of it.

My dad was always my manager, I hated it. He controlled every part of my life including my money. I had no money left because he spent it all on moving to Vegas, buying the range, drinking and gambling. I'd reached out to a management company secretly and they where the ones who got me out. I was 17, broke, black and blue. They drove to my house to find me in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. They spent 2 days by my side at hospital to ensure he didn't get to me and then moved me to LA. To keep him quiet and out of my life. We payed him off and have been doing for 4 years. We had even him sent to rehab and he'd been sober since.

Obviously untill now