Finding Home

The worst part of drinking before going to bed was that I would replay old memories and wake up in panic not knowing if I was still in the same spot. I hated it. I didn’t like reliving my past but honestly who does?

[i/]

I want to run away tonight, I would never look back if I could just escape this living hell. I know it won’t work, I know that he’ll find me he always does. I’ve tried to escape many of times but it was no use I was his prisoner and I no longer knew if I would make it out of this alive. I know that he loves me and I know that he care, I like to think he just has an odd way of showing it at least that what I keep trying to tell myself.

He’s gone tonight but only because his deed is done, I can’t move I’m too scared. I feel so pathetically helpless. I’m lying on the floor again covered in blood; I’m not sure if my nose is broken or if it’s just a bloody nose. I try to push myself off of the ground but I know that this could be a fatal move.

He’s still outside the front door, so I don’t move I wait till I hear the car start up. Seconds feel like hours, I can hear every step he takes down each stair; his heavy boots clink against the metal stairs. I can feel him watching me through the walls even though I know he can’t see me; I know he can hear every movement.

I can faintly hear the car engine start, with a sigh of relief I push myself up off of the hard wooden floor. I tucked my matted brown hair behind my ears and out of my face, I hate the way it feels; it’s slightly dried out and crispy due to the blood that is in the tips of it. The pain in my face is quickly growing; I can feel the bruises beginning. I can barely stand I feel so dizzy and sick to my stomach. Why do I keep letting him do this to me? I wasn’t raised to let a man walk all over me; I wasn’t told that it was ok. I was never abused as a child, as a matter-o-fact my older brother Bam taught me how to fight back just in case I were ever in this type of situation. He’d be so disappointed if he knew how many times I didn’t fight back.

We’re supposed to meet up at his house tomorrow and I think I’m going to have to cancel, there’s only so many times an older brother will believe that you have fallen down the stairs, or that you got too drunk at a bar and got into a fight with some girl twice your size. I don’t think he ever believed in the first place. He knows I’m not much of confrontational person.

Slowly I walk to my bathroom, staggering to the counter I look in the mirror; even though I don’t want to look I can’t help it. I have to look. My pale face is covered with smears of blood, my blue eyes are circled with purple outlines, and my arms are bruised from his grip being so tight.

I sat on my bathroom counter; taking a wash cloth to my face I began to gently push the washcloth down on my skin to clean up the splatters of blood. It stings and I don’t want to continue but the voice in the back of my head begs me to get rid of the reminder that I am helpless little girl that can’t stand up for herself.

Tears sting my eyes; I can’t recall the last time I thought I was beautiful. I can’t remember what I used to look like, because now all I see is the same monster in the mirror every day.

My eyes used to be my best feature; they used to glow and shine but now they are dull and full of sadness. I’ve lost too much weight, I’m not healthy my bones are showing again. I lift up my shirt knowing the damage was far worse than what I felt. It’s strange to me that people think this is normal, my friends and family all know I’ve never been a size three in my life. I guess to them it’s not a big difference from my usual size eight and the worst part is, my mother congratulates me on the weight I’ve lost…if only she knew.

I gently pull my shirt down and hop offs the counter I’m done examining my broken body. I can’t bear to look at myself anymore. I want sleep, I need sleep. I walk out of my bathroom. I don’t bother to take a shower; I know round two will happen as soon as he walks through the door. I decide to change into my silky red pajama’s and curl up in the bed that I call mine, which is actually his. I know that I need to cry, I can feel the tears forming in my eyes, but I can’t allow myself to feel that weak. I can’t allow the tears to drop; I don’t want to pity myself. I don’t want any ones pity.

My eyes are getting heavy I want to sleep but I’m afraid, I’m so tired, “Don’t fall asleep.” I keep telling myself, but my body takes control and I start dozing, I can’t help but let my eyes slowly close.

I feel like I have been sleeping for minute’s maybe only seconds, but when my eyes flicker open to the sound of the front door opening. Fear is the only thing striking my mind; I quickly look at my alarm clock that reads in red 5:00 am. I had slept to long, I slept for 6 hours. I don’t have time to prepare for the next beating, he’s here, and I know my body is going to get beaten again.
I jump out of my bed and cower underneath hoping that he will pass out drunk; I know he has work tomorrow. I’m hoping that he won’t come looking for me but I know he will he always does.

The smell of alcohol and cigarettes are filling our room, I know he’s standing by the bed though it’s dark and hard to see I can sense him. My heart begins to race, I can feel the sweat dripping off my forehead, and my hands start to shake and my lips tremble. I try to stay as quiet as possible, but my breathing has never seemed so loud. I watch as he walks to the door and flicks the bedroom light on. I watch him looking in the closet searching for something. I squint my eyes shut and hope that this is just another nightmare, but I know it’s not.

Before I can open my eyes my hair is yanked violently and I’m pulled out from underneath the bed. I try to scream but I know it will only make things worse, so I squeeze my eyes shut knowing that the tears will only make him angrier. I open my eyes to a smirking face, his green eyes are full of violence, his muscles are flexed and all he can do is smile as he straddles my waist and laughs. I was expecting a blow to the face maybe a kick to the stomach. He knew I was afraid, he knew he had done his job. He only got up and stares down at me and darkly chuckles, “You’re pathetic.” He slowly walks to the bed leaving me on the ground. I don’t know if I should cry or if I should be thankful anymore. [i/]

These flashback and these dreams are going to be the death of me.I let out a small sigh. What the hell am I doing?