For some people, home is a warm place full of love, where they want to be. To others, it's a cage they are desperately trying to escape. Mine is the latter, but I have nowhere to go in this miserable world. 

As I enter the house, my pulse quickens and my nerves are instantly on edge. I close the door as silently as possible, and make no noise as I take off my shoes. I've learned socks are easier for sneaking.

My silence is of no use though, because when I turn my dad's in the kitchen, his dark eyes studying me. He's leaning back, using the counter to support his large frame. Only the light above our stove is on, so it's hard to see his features, but his face looks ominous. My dad is always hard to read, his emotions and moods are volatile and change quickly. Who will I be dealing with today, Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

"Where have you been?" His voice doesn't offer any indication, but I still have to keep myself from flinching as I cross the room towards him.

"I was at Emma's," I mutter, eyes down looking at my mismatched socks. Maybe if I don't make eye contact, I won't be trapped. Just keep moving, I urge myself forward.

"Why wasn't I told this?" I'm sure mom did tell him, he either wasn't paying attention or just can't remember. I can't say this though, so I try to choose my words carefully since I can't imply anything is ever his fault.

"I'm sorry, mom said it was fine." I keep edging my way towards the hall and the sanctuary of my room. He doesn't comment so I think I'm in the clear, but when I make a run for it he grabs my arm. His grip is tight as he jerks me backwards, and I barely keep my balance. Wrong answer, Beck.

"You need to remember your mother isn't the head of this house. What did you do last night?" His voice is quiet and deadly, his hand tightens when I don't respond. "You shouldn't be running off and being gone all fucking hours of the day and night. Have you been drinking?" He snarls, the words harsh as I keep my head and body turned away as far as possible. The real question is, has he been drinking?

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." I try to force my gaze to his face, but I can't. I won't like what I will see. His eyes, identical to mine, burning with rage. I hate this feeling in my gut, but the cracked, yellow linoleum doesn't comfort or offer a solution for my current problem.

He has to be able to hear my heart's stuttering rhythm as I tense, my body trying to prepare for whatever he is going to do next. Playing dead might be a viable option. Searching for my voice, I open my mouth but noise on the porch interrupts this lovely father daughter time. Mom to the rescue, he releases me and I stagger back towards the hallway before she can open the door. He leans away from me, glaring at her arrival. 

"Hello!" She greets as she enters, too busy undoing the buttons on her coat after a long day to notice the tension in the air, not even looking up. 

My pulse is still erratic and the flight instinct strong as I look towards my her as she tosses a purse down, still not noticing me. I look at my dad and his reddened face, and I can see his pulse ticking in his forehead. I mentally apologize to my mother for bringing this fight upon her, but I won't be any help. Bolting for it, I don't return her greeting, needing to get away.

His raised voice at my back as I retreat is directed at mom, but inevitably it's about me. I shut my door, and feel a twinge of guilt as my poor mother now gets chewed out for my wrong doings. I press my hand to my arm where he was clenching me. I have the feeling it's going to bruise, like all the times before. It will be easy to hide though, the same as the others.

Tears prick my eyes as I head for my bed, not able to ignore my parent's yelling. I hate the fighting, and my hangover isn't helping the uneasiness brewing inside me. Feeling slightly nauseated, I go to my bed and sit facing the door, not bothering to turn on the light. The blinds on my window make stripes of pale blue on the wall as I listen to the waves of their fighting, increasing and crashing and starting again. I sit through the storm, then the unsettling, quiet calm after. 

●●●

Sleet falling against my window wakes me up, I had fallen asleep sitting in an awkward position, the wooden window ledge digging into my spine. I feel like I'm a hundred years old as I try to stretch out my back, and it doesn't help. There is pain in my stomach, but I don't know if it's from all that alcohol, no food, or anxiety. Probably all three. 

I check my phone, but it's dead since I forgot to plug it in last night before I finally fell asleep. I search for my charger, and hook it up making sure that the light indicating the stupid thing is charging turns on. It's a fickle thing, and has betrayed me before after leave it plugged in for hours. I have to move the cord a little bit, due to years of misuse and finally get it working. I gently place it on my nightstand, making sure not to disturb the cord. 

I don't hear any noises coming from outside my room, and my clock indicates it's too fucking early. I decide it's worth it to risk a trip to the kitchen. I startle when I find my mom messing with our temperamental coffee pot, and she gives me a tired smile.

"Good morning honey,"she whispers even though their room is at the end of the hall, and grabs down two cups.

"Hi mom," I say just as quietly, neither of us wanting to awake the beast.

"Did you have fun at Emma's? Sorry about last night, you know how he gets," She shakes her head as she fills our mugs. 

Yes, I am well aware of how he gets.

"He's just having a rough time, he doesn't mean it when he acts like that." My mom hands me my mug and I fill it with tons of creamer and sugar, ignoring her watchful gaze. I know it's awful, but I can only drink my coffee tooth achingly sweet, the same goes for my tea.

"We both love you, baby. I know he's sorry for how he acted, but you need to remember to try not to give him a reason to freak out."

I don't respond, and just gulp my coffee letting it scold my mouth. I'm being blamed for his reaction last night, which isn't surprising. She is always warning me to watch what I say, be careful what I do. My body is sore from walking on tip toe.

"Well, we can just put it behind us." She heads to our small kitchen table and sets down her cup. "So how's school been?" She asks as she sits, leaning back. I take after my dad in looks, my mom is several inches shorter and doesn't take up a lot of space. This morning she looks so worn out and small, like she's folded in on herself.  My mom is so beautiful when she smiles, but right now she just looks exhausted like me. Knowing I'm the reason for her ragged state is hard to swallow.

"It's fine," I shrug not wanting to go into details. "Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast." I offer, to ward off the consuming guilt.

She smiles then, not her beautiful one, but something smaller. It's a pale imitation, not reaching her eyes.

"You're so sweet, my baby Beck."

I stand up to investigate what we have, and ask her about work. She starts in on a tale, so I spend breakfast and the time cleaning up listening to her babble.

I spend most of the day being lazy after that, lounging in bed. I read and don't do anything remotely productive. When I finally turn my phone on, there are a few texts from my friends. Emma wanted to hang out today, but I'm not feeling like leaving after what happened last night. I think of responding only momentarily, I'm too tired to talk about what happened and I know she will probably want to call me instantly. Not wanting to talk, I let them go unanswered. I don't know how to articulate how I feel, not to anyone, even my friends. Hate and anger swirl inside me, but also a heavy dose of guilt

Instead, I spend the day locked in my room, hiding.

Ignoring the way my arm aches when I accidentally press against it, ignoring the world.