I am almost out of earshot when I hear his last words, said in a voice so filled with contempt that I have to force myself to keep walking.
"You disgust me."
I take the stairs two at a time, forcing myself not to break down where he can see or hear me. The door to my room is the most welcoming sight I've seen since I got home. As soon as I'm inside, I slam the door shut, lock it, and crumple into a shaking ball on the floor. It feels like someone's knocked all the air out of my chest. I can't breathe, can't think straight; everything is blurry. I don't understand why my face is wet. I never cry when he screams at me. I normally force myself not to, but somehow today is an exception. I stare down at my hands through my stream of tears, and I don't recognize them. They're not my hands. I think. This is not my body, or my house, or my family. Everything is make-believe. The pain isn't real. He can't hurt me.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall and immediately silence my sobs. They slow down as they pass my door and then I hear a bedroom door click shut. I try to stand, but my legs are weak and it takes every ounce of energy I have to make it the short distance to my bed. My comforting bed. My unfeeling bed. I pour out all my tears into a soft feather pillow, not caring anymore who hears me. It feels like an eternity before I can't cry anymore. My body is left shaking, and my head is throbbing.
I don't know what else to do, or how to get rid of the anger that is stuck inside me. This time, I can't hold back; the pocketknife calls, and soon, another group of cuts is on my body. My iPod is now blaring heavy rock in my ears as I lay back on my bed, feeling completely empty, just how I like it.
I am so lost in my daze of pain and music that I don't hear my phone ringing, I can feel it, though, and it makes me jump about three feet in the air. My iPod clatters to the floor, earphones being yanked with it. I yank my phone out of my pocket, flipping it open and not bothering with Caller ID.
"What?" I snap, annoyed.
"Whoa, whoa." A male voice says defensively. Harrison. "What'd I do?"
I shake my head, even though he can't hear me. "Nothing. I'm sorry. You just startled me. That's all."
He chuckles, causing me to narrow my eyes. "I thought you were coming back..." He remarks. "I mean, we didn't even start the movie yet and it's been two hours."
My breath catches in my throat. They want me to come back. They actually enjoy my company.
"You disgust me."
I take the stairs two at a time, forcing myself not to break down where he can see or hear me. The door to my room is the most welcoming sight I've seen since I got home. As soon as I'm inside, I slam the door shut, lock it, and crumple into a shaking ball on the floor. It feels like someone's knocked all the air out of my chest. I can't breathe, can't think straight; everything is blurry. I don't understand why my face is wet. I never cry when he screams at me. I normally force myself not to, but somehow today is an exception. I stare down at my hands through my stream of tears, and I don't recognize them. They're not my hands. I think. This is not my body, or my house, or my family. Everything is make-believe. The pain isn't real. He can't hurt me.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall and immediately silence my sobs. They slow down as they pass my door and then I hear a bedroom door click shut. I try to stand, but my legs are weak and it takes every ounce of energy I have to make it the short distance to my bed. My comforting bed. My unfeeling bed. I pour out all my tears into a soft feather pillow, not caring anymore who hears me. It feels like an eternity before I can't cry anymore. My body is left shaking, and my head is throbbing.
I don't know what else to do, or how to get rid of the anger that is stuck inside me. This time, I can't hold back; the pocketknife calls, and soon, another group of cuts is on my body. My iPod is now blaring heavy rock in my ears as I lay back on my bed, feeling completely empty, just how I like it.
I am so lost in my daze of pain and music that I don't hear my phone ringing, I can feel it, though, and it makes me jump about three feet in the air. My iPod clatters to the floor, earphones being yanked with it. I yank my phone out of my pocket, flipping it open and not bothering with Caller ID.
"What?" I snap, annoyed.
"Whoa, whoa." A male voice says defensively. Harrison. "What'd I do?"
I shake my head, even though he can't hear me. "Nothing. I'm sorry. You just startled me. That's all."
He chuckles, causing me to narrow my eyes. "I thought you were coming back..." He remarks. "I mean, we didn't even start the movie yet and it's been two hours."
My breath catches in my throat. They want me to come back. They actually enjoy my company.
