Welcome (part 10) | Teen Ink

Welcome (part 10)

March 17, 2011
By KatreenaMarie PLATINUM, Fresno, California
KatreenaMarie PLATINUM, Fresno, California
32 articles 0 photos 25 comments

Favorite Quote:
"We will fight, or we will fall, until the angels save us all"
Hollywood Undead

The rest of the day is spent uneventfully. Math is the only class I have with Andrew, so I don't see him. I hear him in my head every now and then, but I push it to the back of my mind.

I walk the mile it takes to get home, and upon reaching my front door with it's peeling red paint, that now has black mold in the top left corner, I notice that His car is nowhere around. I open the unlocked front door and walk inside, only to narrowly miss a frying pan thrown at my head.

"You stupid b****. I raised you up properly, didn't I? I gave you a good home, and this is what you do? You go and take my car?" At this another pan is aimed towards my head. He's so wasted, I could get drunk off the fumes emanting from his body, "You stupid wh*re, that's all you are. Just like your momma. I see you even take after her in that sense too."

He glances at my wrists. Sh*t, Andrew returned my scars a little too early.

"SO you're gonna kill yourself too. Is that it? You are gonna leave behind a good man, a good home, a good life, just like your sl*t of a mother did 7 years ago. Huh, SL*T!"

A spatula goes flying by this time. Then suddenly, He is flying at me, fists raised. He tears my bag from my shoulder, and rips my clothes from my body. He throws me to the fake hardwood floor, pounding out my "punishment" the whole time. His fists slam again, again, again into my body, his nails gouging into my skin, "Do you like that? Little wh*re I bet you like the pain."

He turns me to face him, and stops. Even in his drunken rage, he still loves her, my mother. He can see that I won't cower and I won't back down. I'm no longer afraid of him. I don't care, and he sees that. The understanding and guilt flashes across his face for an instant, and then, POOF! He is beating me. Pounding his fists into my face like a drum, and all I can think about it someone dancing, arms raised, in the moon's shadow to the song of tribal drums and windchimes. And then, I'm gone.

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