As I was still, crumbled on the floor of my bathroom, my hands pulled into the sleeves of my jacket so I wouldn’t have to see the mazework of scars of my own hand that covered my forearms, my knees pulled up to my chest, the light off and the hood up and over my face as much as I could do it. My hand absentmindedly went to my forehead, feeling the scar going through my brow that despite its age, the memory was still painful and intense. I was ten years old, Mother threw a heel at me and it clipped me face, sending me falling and I slammed my forehead and face into the corner of the coffee table which is what made the scar so much worse. The heel caused the scar, but then the concussion of face-first falling into the coffee table made it still be a little painful at times. Should have gone to the hospital. Did I? No, because then the doctors would question how that happened to me, my parents would lie, the doctors would get suspicious and then they’d ask me and because I was a “good little boy” who was taught not to lie to adults, I’d tell them what happened and boom, CPS would be called, but my parents taught me, brainwashed me, more likely when I was young to think that CPS was a group who took bad kids and sold them to monsters, just…whatever lie they could come up with to scare me shitless out of my child brain…and as I got older, the threat of what CPS would due turned to stories about how kids who go into CPS would be left as wards for the state…forever, that nobody would ever take me, that once I aged out of the program the only place I would find a bed to sleep in would be prison…things like that that scared me into silence. I hate being around my family, but prison scared me more, though…thinking back, prison would have been easier than my family: at least prison gives you three meals a day and a bed to sleep in.
I stumbled and crawled in my weakened state across my room before pulling/throwing myself back onto my bed. I shifted in my bed as I rolled onto my side, wrapping my arms around myself and a random pillow as I mulled about what will happen when my father gets back. it was…probably hours that I vegged out in my room, going through waves of panic and calm about thinking every sound was Father getting home. Despite the loud music, I could still hear Mother’s terrible tv shows blaring into the house, the smell of tobacco so intense on the air of the house that it was burnt into the very fabric of my bedding.
“WHERE IS HE!? WHERE IS THAT SON OF A BITCH!?” Father shouting burnt into my ears along with the slamming of the front door, though he waisted for the door to be closed fully before shouting that out.
“STOP FUCKING YELLING!” Mother’s voice added, I buried my face further into the pillows as I could start hearing the two of them screaming at each other.
“THAT FAMILY IS INSANE!” Father added, “THAT BITCH OF A DAUGHTER THEY HAVE BAD-MOUTHED ME…ME OF ALL PEOPLE, I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT IF WAS IN FRONT OF THAT WASTE OF A CHILD YOU BIRTHED, BUT THAT WASTE MUST HAVE TOLD HER SOMETHING BECAUSE HER PARENTS WANTED ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH ME OR MY COMPANY. I WAS HOPING THAT BECAUSE THEY’RE OBVIOSLY LOADED FOR BUYING THAT PLACE, I WOULD BE ABLE TO GET A CONTRACT OUT OF THEM MOVING IN, BUT NO…THE FATHER, IF HE’S EVEN THEIR FATHER, WAS MORE FEMININE THAN YOU AND HE DARED TO SAY THAT I WASN’T WELCOME IN THE HOUSE AND THAT HE’D PREFER I LEFT. HIS WIFE SAID THAT I WAS NOT THE KIND OF PERSON THEY WANT ANYWHERE NEAR THEM! THAT USELESS, WORTHLESS SPAWN OF YOURS MUST HAVE SAID SOMETHING TO THEM!” Dad roared, I turned my face into the pillows as I felt fear, panic and all of the other various emotions fill my body, making me wrap the pillow around my head to muffle everything around me.
“WELL STOP FUCKING SHOUTING, I CAN’T HEAR THE TV.” Mother retorted before the sound of ice in glass followed as she got herself another drink. “I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE LEFT AND I SURE AS HELL DIDN’T KNOW HE WENT TOWARDS THAT HOUSE. HE MUST HAVE GOTTEN THE IDEA OF TALKING TO THEM FROM YOU OR SOMETHING BECAUSE HE’S NOT GOT ENOUGH BRAINS TO THINK HIMSELF OUT OF A WET PAPER BAG, LET ALONE LIE TO SOMEONE ABOUT HOW BAD OF PEOPLE HIS PARENTS ARE.” She added, still thinking that she’s a faultless mother, that’s always been her thing, no matter what she did, what she said or anything like that, she was in the right because she’s my mother, that she’s my god and that I have to do everything and anything she askes because she gave birth to me and that it was illegal for children not to do as their parents said.
“WELL WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN WHEN THOSE FUCKING NIGHTMARES ARE SEEN ABOUT TOWN, THEY’RE GOING TO START SAYING ALL SORTS OF LIES ABOUT ME AND MY COMPANY WILL SUFFER.” Dad shouted back, as usual, only caring about his company and money.
“IT’S NOT MY FAULT THAT TWAT’S BROKEN!” Mother snapped making me grip the pillows hard as I felt my eyes start watering, “IT MUST HAVE BEEN SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR DICK THAT MADE HIM ALL FUCKED UP AND BROKEN. IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE’S NOT NORMAL LIKE US. IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE HAS TO GO TO…” she started before pausing, “therapy” she said, just loud enough so that I could hear it probably, “WE TRIED OUR BEST TO MAKE HIM NORMAL, BUT NO…HE HAD TO BE WEIRD AND BROKEN. HE PROBABLY SAID SOME SORT OF LIE FOR ATTENTION LIKE HE DOES EVERYTHING ELSE; MAKING HIMSELF CONSTANTLY GET SICK SO PEOPLE THINK HE’S SICK, CUTTING HIS WRISTS AND LEGS SO I’M CONSTANTLY HAVING TO BUY HIM CLOTHING BECAUSE EVERYTHING ELSE IS COVERED IN BLOOD. WHAT DID YOU DO WHEN HE CAME HOME, CRYING ABOUT HOW OTHERS WERE TALKING ABOUT HIM? YOU BEAT HIM FOR CRYING, BUT WHEN I WENT TO HIM AND HE WAS TALKING ABOUT WANTING TO DISAPPEAR AND BE GONE, WHO WAS IT THAT GAVE HIM THE CODE TO THE GUN-SAFE AND TOLD HIM TO JUST GO ON WITH IT AND TOLD HIM HE WASN’T ENOUGH OF A MAN TO EVEN KNOW WHAT A GUN WAS AND THAT HE WAS BETTER OFF DEAD BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH OF A FUCKING DISAPPOINTMENT HE IS” Mother snapped making me just start sobbing silently into my pillow as I tried to keep quiet, quickly hitting the button on my phone to stop the music so they couldn’t hear my music and know I was here.
“WELL HE’S PROBABLY UPSTAIRS. I’M TELLING YOU, WE SHOULD HAVE WAITED FOR WHEN HE WAS PASSED OUT ON THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM FROM STEALING YOUR PILLS AGAIN AND JUST DROVE HIM OFF SOMEWHERE AND LEFT HIM ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD TO DIE IN A DITCH WHERE HE BELONGS!” Father snapped back. “JAMES!” he shouted as I heard the door to the stairs rattle, the lock is broken from him kicking the door in, so I’ve been using just a random brick I found in the garage, wedged between the front of the stair so it stopped the door from being opened, the space was just enough that the brick wedged the door shut. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, YOU BITCH!” he shouted. I quickly grabbed my phone as I opened the window, not having enough time to get the rope and all as I climbed out of the window and closed the window behind me as I crouched and walked along the roof of the back porch before running the last few steps as I jumped off the roof as I heard the brick be shoved across the wood floor as the door was slammed open and his stomping footsteps up the creaking stairs as I rolled along the grass and just started running off into the woods.
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