INTRODUCTION
The room
started
spinning out of control. I felt
lightheaded, almost as if my head was
floating away from my body. I closed my eyes and
rubbed them
roughly with my hands, trying to still the room. When I opened my eyes
again,
everything was still the same. The dark room and flashing lights didn't
help at
all. The music was so loud that I couldn't even hear myself think, and
the fog
machine made the whole room feel distant.
Trent reached
over and stuck his hand up my shirt, surprising me and causing me to
drop my
cup, "C'mon baby, just relax. It's good stuff, I promise."
TWO YEARS
EARLIER
The
sound of breaking dishes downstairs scared me out of my sleep, causing
me to
roll off the edge of my bed, and hit the floor hard. I immediately
stood up in
the dark, standing frozen with fear, listening to every little sound
coming
from downstairs. I could hear my heart beat in rhythm with my
breathing. My
whole body shook as if I were in the early stages of hypothermia.
I
walked as carefully as I could in the dark over to my bedroom door.
Slowly and
quietly, I opened it, making sure that it didn't creak. The hallway was
pitch
black, with the only hint of light coming from the end of the hall by
the top
of the stairway. My mind screamed at me to go back into the room and
hide, it
begged me not to do anything. I ignored the voices in my head as I
headed down
to the stairway, quietly dragging my hand along the wall for balance as
I went.
I could feel my body tremors increase as my mind went trough my past. I
clenched my hands and held my breath as I leaned over to look
downstairs.
I
listen as they yell and scream at each
other, throwing the occasional dish. Mom yells, dad throws a dish. Dad
yells
back, mom kicks the cupboard door. Over and over. Their words are
mumbled as
they scream. I can't hear the words, but everything inside me knows
what
they're yelling about. My heart skips a beat and I almost scream as a
plate
flies through the living room, crashing into the front door. It falls
shattered
the floor, but they still don't stop.
I
quickly back up and hide behind the wall as
mom chases dad out the front door, with a beer can in one hand, and a
bottle of
some sort in the other. The door slams, knocking a picture off the
wall, coming
to a crash landing on the carpet unharmed. She continues to scream at
it as if
were alive. She shakes her head violently and then breaks to take a
gulp from
the can and then the bottle. As she turns to walk away she gasps as she
steps
on the glass from the plate. Lifting her foot up enough to examine it,
she
brushes the bottom of her foot off. Frustrated now, she turns and
throws her
bottle at the door. It explodes and sends glass all over the front
entryway.
She finally turns and walks away, leaving both messes.
I
knew what happened now, as it has happened several times this month
already.
After the arguments, dad always left to pick up some girl at the bar
and get
himself drunk. He usually goes out purely to find some girl to have a
good time
with. Mom always ends up drinking herself into a coma on the couch
while
watching television, sometimes within several minutes. She leaves the
television up so loudly that I can hear it from my bedroom, but I fear
the risk
of waking her by turning it off, so I always sleep with a pillow over
my head.
Hopefully dad would get what he wants from some girl, so he would leave
me
alone.
The
television is still up loud, but I still sneak quietly back into my
room and
get back into bed. My mind is running thoughts back and forth in my
head, over
and over. The fear of what has happened, the fear of what could happen,
and the
fear of what will happen, and the anger and frustration of not being
able to do
anything to stop it. There was no way I could sleep now, not until I
heard the
front door slam closed, not until I heard him carry mom up to bed, not
until I
knew he was asleep. I laid on my back, staring through the darkness at
the
ceiling I knew was up there somewhere.
I was able to
get a little bit of sleep, going
in and out. Not much more than several short catnaps. I was awoken
early as the
door creaked as it opened. I stopped breathing, my body shook, and my
mind
screamed for help, but my lips fell silent. There in the doorway was
his
outline. I knew that outline well enough by now to know that it was
his. I shut
my mind down and tried to separate myself from reality as much as I
could,
bracing for what was to come. This is it.
The sun shining through my
bedroom
blinds wakes me in early morning. I look at my clock and can see that
it's
already six-thirty, no one will be up for at least three hours still. I
pull on
some clothes, and top it with a heavy sweatshirt to ward off the
mornings
chill. I slip into my nice, warm slippers, and sneak quietly into the
bathroom
across the hall. I take my usual short shower, slightly towel drying my
hair,
leaving it somewhat damp. I squeeze some toothpaste onto my toothbrush
and
finish brushing, finally getting that nasty taste out of my mouth.
I
finish drying my hair with the towel and brush it out, leaving it dry
and neat.
I stand staring at my reflection in front of the mirror for several
minutes. I
gently pull my fingers through my long, blonde hair, and pull it so it
frames
my face. My eyes are bright red, as if I'd been crying for hours, but I
don't
remember crying. All of a sudden I'm hit with a brick wall, and the
whole night
comes flashing back to me. Several tears fall from my eyes before I
wipe them
dry.
I
walk carefully down the stairs into the living room, and notice that
the couch
is empty. Dad must have taken mom up to bed at some point last night.
The plate
and bottle are still shattered on the floor in front of the door,
showing only
minor disturbance from the door being opened. I go and hang up the
picture
frame that lay face down on the carpet, a family portrait from nearly
four
years ago, where all of us were dressed up and smiling. We looked happy.
Heading
to the kitchen to grab a dustpan, I see the mess of glass from all the
dishes
broken in the kitchen, all of it has gone untouched. I pulled the hand
broom
and dust pan off of the wall, and started cleaning up the glass in the
kitchen.
It took me two and a half full loads to get all of the glass off of the
kitchen
floor. Then after grabbing a roll of paper towels and some spray as
well, I
head to the front door to clean up the mess there. I sweep up the
glass, only
taking one full load this time. I spray the floor where the alcohol had
dried
up into a somewhat sticky mess, and wipe it as clean as I can get it.
As
I go to dump the glass out, a long, sharp piece of dark glass catches
my eye. I
carefully pull it out of the mess of glass and set it on the counter
beside me,
and then I dump the rest of the glass out. I see several beer cans
underneath
all of the glass, telling me that both of my parents had gotten
incredibly
drunk the night before, which means the day after will be absolute hell
for me.
I shake my head as I try to count out the cans, reaching the number of
twenty-three cans. Twenty-three cans between them! I was tired of this!
Once
again my body started to tremble as I began crying out of control, the
muscles
in my body tensing up. I lifted my left sleeve up past my elbow, and
quickly
grabbed the piece of glass from the counter beside me. Without thinking
I
pulled the sharp edge of the glass across my wrist painlessly, cutting
deep.
Unable to stop until I was calm, I did it again and again until I had
four
fairly deep gashes in my wrist. I place the glass back onto the
counter, and
then I quickly put paper towels over them before my blood hit the white
tiled
floor, holding pressure over them for over five minutes, making sure
the
bleeding stops.
When
I see that I can let go of my wrist without it bleeding again, I stick
the
paper towels in a paper bag. Not even thinking about the glass or what
else
could be in the garbage, I push the bag to the bottom and pull my arm
out. I
pull my sleeve across my eyes drying my tears. I look back and forth to
make
sure no one is around, and take the glass off of the counter and slide
it into
my pocket.
