"Frosty! Frosty!" A voice yelled. I groaned. I didn't dare to turn around, since I could already tell who the voice was. Before I could move or get out of the way, a body suddenly slammed into me. I tumbled to the ground, my new black jeans ripping on the pavement.
"What the hell?" I shouted, struggling to my feet. Standing before me was Brian, his shaggy dirty-blonde hair a mess, green eyes wide, face pale. He wore a dark red Football jacket and regular blue jeans.
My new jeans were ripped around the knees and legs and covered with dirt. The skin that showed was cut and bloody, and my grey shirt was now scuffled and bits of grass were caught in my long black-brown hair. My ice-blue eyes were cold and my fists clenched, glaring at Brian.
"S-sorry," Brian stammered.
"Why did you ram into me like that?" I demanded, my eyes growing colder. Hence the name Frosty. I hated the name. I was not a icy-cold beverage that you slurp up through a straw. I was a fifteen year old girl who was as pissed off as a bull and ready to take it all out on Brian, who looked as if he was about to piss himself.
"Uh, I wanted to walk home with you," Brian said.
I rolled my eyes. "Why isn't Vanessa walking with you?" I asked, bending over to brush some mud off my blue sneakers.
I heard Brian snort. "She had tutoring," he replied.
I sniffed. "Figures." Vanessa was a straight F student, while I was a straight A student, and Brian was a A and B student.
"Please?" Brian begged. I could see the fear and anxiousness in his wide green eyes.
I sighed, straightening my back. "Fine," I growled. I held up a finger before Brian could cheer. "But you need to make up with your Dad! I'm tired of having to walk home with you everyday." Brian's Dad was a large, bulk dude who looked like he could eat you by picking you up my your ears and tossing you into his mouth. He has these dark eyes that scare the shit outta you, and his voice sounds like a jackhammer pounding on concrete.
"He never hurts me when you're around," Brian whispered.
I lifted an eyebrow. "I thought he only yelled at you."
Brian shook his head, pulling back his messy hair to reveal his left eye. It was extremely swollen, the skin around it puffy and blue-purple.
"Brian!" I yelled. He flinched. "Why didn't you tell me that he abused you? I feel like a jerk!"
Brian stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Because you would've thought I was a sissy," he muttered.
I sighed. "Brian, you're not a sissy." But my tone was barely convincing. Brian was like his cat - skittish and jumpy. To be honest, Brian's cat was more brave then him. And his cat looked like a rug that had been beaten, cut with scissors, and then ironed. I shook the grass out of my hair and said, "Let's go now."
I turned around and walked down the sidewalk. We walked in silence. The sun was setting, casting an amber-pink shade over the land. I pulled out my phone to check the time. "6:58," I read. "Fuck. My parents are going to kill me!" My parents were real strict. I was supposed to be home at 6:30. I bet they were calling the police, FBI, anything that would get their little girl Frosty back home.
"My Dad hits me if I come home one minute late," Brian muttered.
I looked at him. "What?"
"He started hitting me two weeks ago," he said quietly.
I groaned. "I'm going to call the police!"
"No!" Brian yelled, grabbing my phone as I managed to punch in the numbers 9 and 1. "He said if I called the police, he'd bury me alive!"
I snatched my phone back. "Brian, we're going to do something," I snapped.
"And he'd hurt Freckles!" Brian wailed.
"Freckles is a cat," I replied. "Cats can run away. Freckles is probably lodged in some tight space where your Dad can't get her."
"You don't understand," Brian sniffed. As he spoke, his house came into view. It was old and raggedy with the blue paint peeling off and the porch old and broken. A swing was on the porch, and as we approached, the wood around it splintered and it fell inside of the porch. The grass was old and yellow, and some were overgrown. I could've sworn I saw a pair of giant yellow eyes glaring at us as we climbed up the porch.
I knocked on the door. The welcome mat was hard and scruffy beneath my feet. As I looked at it, I realized the words 'COME IN' were just 'GO AWAY.'
The door swung open. I nearly reeled back as the smell of must and alcohol entered my nose. There stood Brian's father. He had a giant beer belly, and he wore a tight grey shirt. His hair was messy and greasy along with his overgrown moustache. As his lifted arms rested on the door frame, I could see long black hair sprouting from his armpits. He wore jeans that were too small and was bare-footed. Besides all that, the muscles on his arms and legs bulged, and his dark eyes were still filled with malice.
"I'm glad you brought Brian home," the man said with a sneer, showing off his stained, cracked yellow teeth.
"He had Football practice," I said instantly. "Coach kept him late because the team wasn't listening."
Brian's dad ignored my excuse and studied my clothes. "You look like you were rolling around in the dirt," he said. His eyes darted from me to Brian. "You two've been fooling around, right?"
"No!" Brian and I yelled at the same time.
"Don't lie to me!" the man roared. He grabbed Brian by his shoulder and yanked him into the house. Before I could run, I felt his greasy, oversized fingers lock around my hair and pull me inside. The door slammed, and I scrambled to Brian, holding onto his arm for dear life.
I could tell he was drinking by the way he stumbled towards us and how glassy and glazed over his eyes were.
"You two have been fooling around," he repeated. "And now you're pregant." He pointed at me.
"I'm not pregnant," I said calmly. But inside, my heart was beating so fast I was convinced Brian could hear it.
"Yes you are," the man snarled. He stumbled past us and grabbed the phone. "And now Imma tell your parents!"
"She's not pregnant," Brian insisted.
His father kept on saying "She is, she is, she is." However, I knew that dialing my phone number would be nearly impossible. His fingers were too big for the buttons, and he kept dropping the phone.
"Well, looks like your parents aren't answering," he said as if he had just called them. He turned towards us, grabbing the nearest empty beer bottle. "I'll have to get rid of the baby myself." Before we could do anything, he swung. The bottle connected with Brian's face. Brian yelled in pain and stumbled away, and I too, screamed as some of the glass had been sprayed on me.
Brian's father tossed a coffee table at him, beer bottles and all. The table smashed into Brian, and blood streamed down his face and neck. "Brian!" I wailed. I tried to go over to him, but glass chips were everywhere, and I wasn't about to risk cutting myself.
However, Jack (Brian's father's name) advanced towards me, holding a chair leg in his giant hads. He didn't seem to notice his feet becoming bloody and cut as they crunched over pieces of glass.
"G-get away from me!" I stammered. I was trapped. Surrounding me was glass. The glass was the sea, and I was on an island. A tiny island. And Jack was the shark, coming to eat me. Closer... one more step...
Bam. I didn't feel the pain at first. Then it came, blinding and throbbing. I screamed and howled as he repeatedly beat and smacked me with the chair leg. I closed my eyes, and colors flashed in my mind.
The pain soon went away. I couldn’t feel anything. All I felt was the thing hitting me, but I couldn’t feel the pain. My body throbbed, and I felt my heart slow down. I let out a long, low sigh. Then everything faded away, and I felt as if I was falling.