It started with nothing

The rest of the day seemed to go by quite smoothly.

Not that I paid attention to whatever the teachers were saying, my mind was mostly occupied with Amelia, and all the little things she did. I couldn't help but smile. She is SO adorable. Although I couldn't help but wonder, when will this intense "Oh God, I'm so in love." phase slowly get back to normal. I mean, we spent together the last few weeks of school in June and then the whole summer, shouldn’t it slowly fade, or something? I've heard about it, but it doesn't seems to be true, at least not so far. But I noticed things, mostly feelings, I knew that I cared about her, but something felt a bit off.

Like don't get me wrong, I like it. But damn I even hate it a little bit. Would be nice if my head was clear for a while, so I wouldn't have to be lightheaded all day just thinking about her. And also, I'm not that sure that whole "heartbeat" thing is safe, you know? Sometimes I feel like I'm having a heart attack or something. Like in those cartoons when the heart jumps of man's chest a beats about a meter away from him in a heart shape? Yup, not so far from the truth, my children. I must admit though, there were times when I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, sometimes it was happiness, but sometimes… I couldn’t help but feel trapped, wrong, sad even, and I never knew why.

After school ended for that day, Amelia and I went to school’s parking lot, got in my car and I drove her home, just to make sure she's safe. I quickly pecked her lips, murmured "goodbye" and drove away. I'm not ready to meet her parents just yet. Or ever, for that matter, for some reason it didn’t feel right. Or maybe I’m just a coward overall, which to be fair, is very possible as well.

But to be honest, I wasn't ready to go home either. I sighed, parked my car somewhere in center, beside some coffee shop and sat down on a rusty old bench beside the road.

I pulled out my songs book and started to work on lyrics again. This song described exactly how I felt. Everyday. The stress, pain and fear of what I will find at home once I get there. I wish I could just throw everything away, get in the first bus away from here and never come back. Why bus? Easy, it’s not that simple to track a person down, as it is if you have their car number.

I sighed more heavily this time. I couldn't leave my mom. Not ever. Not like this. When I looked at my watch I could taste the fear again.

"Shit!" I cursed angrily. I spent there about 3 hours. Dad will be so fucking pissed off. Well seems like I will be his punching bag tonight. That’s alright, as long as mom won't be the target.
But I was wrong. When I drove back to our place and opened the front door, he was already standing above her, yelling nonsenses in his drunken state, with my mother curled into a ball on the floor.

Oh no. Please no. Take me!

I ran over to my mom, pushed him away and then quickly covered her with my own body before he could hit her again. She tried to push me out of the way, but she was too weak.

My gesture of course made my father even angrier.

"So you're gonna defend this ugly little piece of shit?! Alright, you'll get what you deserve!" And then he hit me. Again. And again. Then again. I lost count as always. Tears of pain slowly going down my face. Quiet sobs escaped from my lips from time to time. They were so quiet I doubted even my mom could've hear them. It was better this way. Do not show any emotion in front of him. Ever.

*

I looked at myself in a mirror. It wasn't that bad. Could have been worse. Way worse. Nothing was broken, just slightly swollen. I could feel bruises slowly appear. I sighed when I realized they're going to look really bad.

If anything isn't broken, my bruises were always really bad. They have this dark purple, almost black shade. Thank God I don't have to take my clothes of in front of anyone.

My mind quickly went back to Amelia. That might be a problem. But things between us weren't that much serious. She was holding herself back for some reason. I never really cared, as long as she's comfortable with me I'm fine. But if I should be completely honest, there were also times when she wasn’t holding herself back, and in these times, it was me who stopped and changed the subject. She considered it weird, but I wasn’t feeling like doing it for some reason. So it was kind of mutual I guess. Or not. I started to get lost in this topic.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror again. I felt numb. That kind of numbness that can take away only another numbness.

I glanced over to my mom sleeping on my bed. Bruised, and her cheeks still wet from crying. I will never ever drink in this house. I won't risk it. I can't. I would never hurt my mom even if I was held in gun point and had to save my own life and do this was the only chance I had to survive. But God knows what will happen when I'm really drunk. I might be just the same as my father. And I won't ever lay my hands on my mother this way. Never.

After I managed to sneak through the house unnoticed I took my keys, put on my favorite leather jacket and stepped into the night.

Notes

Hello to the few people who's reading this right now.
I'm not sure if you'll like this. It's shitty written. I really hate that violence part. I had to fight the urge to punch my notebook how angry I was. So if it's worse than just shitty, please blame my hate for violence against women. Or anyone, for that matter.

I will probably update one more time today. Because I use this story as excuse for not getting my other shit done.