The smell of alcohol filled my nose as I entered the living room, my father wasted himself again last night I'm sure. I walk behind the couch, not even having to look because I know he was there – passed out asleep in his drunken state. I've never cared for him, he never acknowledged me. We're basically two strangers living in the same house, never to truly know one another.
I yawned, my hand covering my mouth as I walked into the kitchen to find something to eat and drink. Normally there wasn't really anything in there, but sometimes I'll get lucky when David hasn't awaken from his slumber and there's still some bit of food left in the house for me to eat, him not clearing it all out yet.
Shortly after entering, I began to rummage through the cabinets, hoping to find something to eat. Just as I wrapped by hand around a jar of peanut butter, I heard a groan followed by heavy, dragging footsteps. I let go of the jar, knowing he would get mad if he saw me touching anything that belonged to him. Shutting the cabinet, I stepped over to the backdoor, unlocking it so I could go sit outside – hoping to escape from his anger spell today. But as usual, I didn't.
''Why the hell are you down here?'' He yells at me, slamming his hand on the counter top. I jump lightly, biting the inside of my cheek as I lift my shoulders in a shrug at him, I knew what was coming to me soon. ''I told you to fucking speak when I talk to you!'' He says, in the same loud voice I always hear.
''I don't know.. I'm sorry.'' I mumble back, giving him some sort of reply. ''Do you not recall what happens when you disobey me, Julianne?'' David asks me through gritted teeth. ''I know.. what happens.'' I say with a sigh, ready to attempt to fight back just to fail at it like always.
''You really are just like your mother, stupid and ignorant.'' He huffs as he steps closer to me, raising his hand to cause me to flinch. I held my breath, hoping one day he will just kill me and all this pain will be over. ''Don't make a sound.'' He warns just before his hand comes into full contact with the left side of my face, leaving me looking over at the wall with a stinging feeling.
"I fucking told you-'' He pauses to throw his fist into my cheek, the powerful blow taking me in somewhat of shock – I was used to it by now, but they still brought me pain. My knees hit the floor, tears filled my eyes ready to stream down my face any second now. ''-to stay in your fucking room!'' He finishes in a yell as he forcefully jabs his foot into my side. I whimper at the pain, knowing good and well not to make a peep because worse will come.
The salty tears begin to pour from my eyes, trailing down my cheeks and dripping off my jaw onto the floor. They were safer there anyways. ''Let me catch you in this damn kitchen one more time this week and you'll really get it.'' David's hand grabs a fist full of my hair as he pulls me up. I hold my screams in as I hurry myself to my feet.
He lets my hair go and it falls in front of my face, napped up and knotted thanks to his grip on it. Within seconds he roughly cups his hand around my throat and forces me to look up at his demon filled eyes. "Do. Not. Come. Down. Here. With. Out. My. Fucking. Permission.'' He says each word slowly, his jaw clenched tight as he stares into my eyes – not seeing me, only seeing something worthless and useless – just like he's always seen. ''Do you understand me?'' He asks in a whisper as he leans down, his alcohol enriched breath fanning my face as he awaited my answer.
''Yes sir. I.. I understand.'' The words leave my mouth and fill his ears, the words he wanted to hear. He shoves me away from him as his hand comes from around my neck. I gasp for air as I hit the back door, sliding down to the floor in trembling fear.
"I better not see you again today. Go to your damn room and don't come out!'' David demands in a yell. I nod rapidly, rushing to my feet so I could get to my safe place – to my bedroom.
The metal was cold against my pale skin, but I knew the release would be amazing so I didn't hesitate to push the corner of the blade through my flesh. I sighed in wondrous relief as I slashed myself once again. I set the blade down on the sink, letting the blood run down my leg as I threw it over the side of the bathtub, soon taking a seat on the cold, white cast iron. I couldn't take this life much longer, my patience was ticking away day by day. Every minute I waste sitting in this hell hole, wasting my life away slowly in pain and agony. David didn't do me much good either – his presence only worsened this pathetic life of mine. Ironically, I'm not thinking of suicide, no that would bring too much pain upon my mother's heavenly soul. What I was referring to was something much, much more understandable: running away.
Up until she passed away, my mother always told me fairy-tales and stories about angels. For a while I always dreamed of being saved by one, being taken away from this world. I didn't need a father, I can somewhat survive without my mother. What I needed was an angel, not necessarily a human but I needed some sort of rescuer. I could no longer live in the flames, the fire has overtaken me and I can't breathe anymore. All I wanted was to be freed, to be saved, to be safe. Under this roof, I had none of those things. Where have all the dreams gone? What happened to the hopes and wishes I had when I was a little girl? The freedom my country promised me, where is it at? I guess the heat burns off the hope, the flames destroy the dreams, the smoke suffocates the freedom. Hell burns my freedom.
Kristen Elizabeth Adams was the name that was given to my mother the day she was born into this world. Her eyes were as blue as sapphires, her hair long, blonde, and naturally wavy. She stood barely at five foot and four inches, same as me, and her personality was brighter than the sun itself. She gave me all of her features. She didn't ask for much, always loved everything she received. She was amazing, her heart was big and full – her love never went to waste. She was the most amazing person God ever created. Kristen was an angel awaiting Heaven's return. But then one day she met the Devil himself, had herself thinking and assuming she was in love. She gave herself away, and out came the gift – not money, not fame, not riches, not love, but me. Little old me. She became an abused angel, the smell of alcohol drowned her day by day, she suffered just to make sure I had the necessities I needed to live. My mother gave herself up for me. She was the brightest star in all of the world's skies, every night she shined and glowed until finally her light burned out...that was the day she passed.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I stare at the items spread out on my bed. This should be enough for the place I will be seeking on my journey. That place being anywhere but here. I sighed as I began to throw the things into my backpack. I didn't pack clothes, only an extra jacket. As I shoved everything into the bag, I stopped myself when I came down to the last thing on top of my bed. A framed picture of my mother. She was so beautiful, so caring, so amazing. Gulping gently to myself, I stick it into the sack with more care than I did anything else.
I step over to the open window, feeling the cool evening breeze blowing into the room. My eyes slowly roam over my bedroom. The metal bed-frame used to be painted pearly white, but now it's dingy. The paint was chipping off, the metal underneath it rusting. The hardwood floor was dusty and scratched up from the years of my own personal ballerina shows to the audience of stuffed animals, the sliding of furniture pieces to get the room the perfect way I wanted it at a time, and the days when I would just sit in the floor and use the edge of a razor blade to carve a message to myself in the wood. There were some I remember that mean everything to me. It was a cold winter day, almost a year after my mother had died. I sat down in the middle of the room in a section of clear flooring. I took the razor blade and began to push it into the floor, letter by letter until I had it finished.
Do Not Give Up
It's hard to go by that sometimes, but other times I know it's better to believe in it and listen to the way my mother repeats it to me in my mind. If she believes in it, then I know for sure it's something real.