Hate This Part

She screamed.

As loud as she possibly could.

No help here. Not now. Not ever.

She had to leave.

Everyone had given up on me.

She felt the her head colliding with the wall once more.

The pain pierced through her. She begged for unconsciousness to follow.

She cringed as the unbalanced footsteps came closer, for her vision was being blurred.

The harsh, broken voice sobbed out. "It's all your fault! All your-"

His sentence was cut short as he grabbed her by her hair and and dragged her through the backyard door.

The blinding Las Vegas sun burned her raw wounds as her aching body was being dragged along the cement floor.

It was hard to think straight.

"How could this happen to me? How is this possible?" she thought feebly.

She could hear his cries once more.

"She wouldn't have left....All because of you. I hate you. You made her leave."

He heaved her up and threw her into a suffocating abyss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alarm rang. I woke up, gasping.

A jolt of pain shot through me as I doubled over, trying to catch some air.

Should I stay home today?

I already knew the answer.

I've been out too many times. I didn't want anyone getting suspicious.

I carefully rose from my bed, trying to avoid the sting in my shoulder.

I cautiously walked towards the mirror and groaned at my reflection.

Aw, crap.

I looked at the clock. 5:57 am. Good. I had a quite a bit of time to fix myself up.

I limped over to the joint bathroom in my room and got the first aid kit out of the cabinet. I got into the shower and let the warm water wash away all traces of last night's events. I stuck my tangled hair under the water and stifled a cry as the pressure hit the cut on my head.

Dry blood ran down my shoulders as I scrubbed myself clean with a sweet smelling soap.

I sighed as I got out of the shower, feeling better, but sore.

I examined myself closely while tending to my wounds. It wasn't as bad as I thought. I definitely didn't sprain anything. I covered up the cut on my forehead with a concealer. and pushed my bangs to the side to cover it.

The cut on my shoulder could be covered up with a long sleeved shirt, despite the 75 degree weather.

Damn Vegas.

My knees were raw but I bandaged them up before I pulled on slightly baggy, black cargo pants.

My lips were swollen, but I bravely applied a lip color to cover up the redness. As I fixed myself up, I glanced at the clock.

7:42 am.

Crap. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my good shoulder.

I tip toed down the staircase, only to see him strewn across the couch, sleeping, beer in hand. I swiftly made it out the door and sighed, elated that I made it out of the house without difficulty.

I made my way down 3rd street, slightly limping. It was barely noticeable.

I turned on 5th street, looking at my shoes hitting the pavement. The harsh Vegas sun was beating down on my back, the dark material absorbing the heat.

I was absorbed in my own suffering until I heard a familiar voice in the distance.

"Amy?"