My dad blames me for my mother’s death, which to me makes no sense. I wasn’t the one drunk driving down the road at one-hundred miles per hour, smashing her tiny red Toyota into the side railing on
the highway. The accident literally crushed her whole body frame, so badly that it was requested that the cassette stayed shut during the funeral.
Though I wasn’t the one who killed her, according to my dad, I was the one who distracted her driving by calling her on her cell phone. In his mind, if I hadn’t had called, then she would have seen the car coming, being able to swerve out of its way, just in time.
It’s almost funny how one little phone call can alter a person’s life entirely. How an innocent phone call can turn into the worst mistake of your life. I pay for my mistake, with every breath I breathe, every step I take, and every moment I live.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I sat at my desk, looking into the mirror at the reflection staring back at me; Brunette colored hair, hanging in ringlets that barely passed my shoulders, almond shaped ocean blue eyes; thick pink
lips, too skinny nose… I turned my head away before I could catch anymore of my millions of flaws. I picked up my comb, and began to brush it through my hair, trying, with great difficulty to
untangle the curls. Since school started in thirty minutes, I didn’t have time to straighten my hair.
Eventually, I’d given up on trying to wear my hair down, and just pulled it up into a messy ponytail, with my bangs hanging over my left eye, which was slightly bruised.
I grabbed my light pink school bag and my purse, and then proceeded out my bed room door and down the stairs.
As I rounded the corner to the family room, I saw my dad passed out on the sofa with a beer bottle tightly held in his hand.
I tip-toed to the kitchen, trying to be completely silent, for I didn’t want to wake him up. There, I went to the cabinet and reached for a mug. As I turned on my heel to walk toward the faucet, my hand lost purchase on the cup, and it fell to the floor, cracking into a million pieces.
I sucked in a scared breath, and quickly dropped to the floor, rushing to pick up the fallen pieces, praying that the man on the sofa was still asleep, but sadly no one heard my prayers.
I heard the floor boards creak, and within seconds I saw my dad, standing in the entrance way to the kitchen.
Anger was not the word to describe him at that moment. It was more of complete rage, his whole face was contorted with it.
I made the mistake of accidentally looking into his eyes, causing him to cross the room in one swift movement, picking me up from the floor by my hair.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Your such a clumsy brat.” I winced away as he screamed loudly in my face.
“You think you can just break all my stuff?” When I didn’t answer right away he pushed me into the nearest wall and slapped me hard across the face, which caused me to start crying.
“N…No.” I answered, scared. “It was an accid…..” I was cut of by a hard punch to my stomach. If it wasn’t for him still holding me up by my hair, I surely would have fallen to the ground.
He looked into my tear-stained eyes, before he finally threw me to the floor. It was a reflex to put my hands out to catch myself, but as I hit the floor, I felt the tiny shards of glass cut into my skin.
I screamed in pain, as I looked at my hand, red with blood.
The man I am forced to call father just stood there, laughing at me. “That’s what you get. If you do it again, it will be a lot worse.”
He kicked me once more, this time in the leg, before finally walking back into the family room, and onto the couch.
I stood there stunned for a moment, before I finally started picking up all the glass piece by piece.
When I was finally done checking over the floor for a third time since I didn’t want to accidentally leave any glass on the ground, I went into the bathroom, locking the door. The first thing I did was go to the medicine cabinet and pull out the first aid kit. I sterilized my hand, before wrapping it with bandages.
I then looked at myself in the mirror and noticed I looked a mess all over again. My hair looked as if someone had rubbed it with a balloon, and my makeup was running with my tears. I redid me hair quickly, and then started to fix my makeup.
It was only seven in the morning and I already had a red slap mark on my face, and another bruise on my leg to add to the collection.
When I was done, I rushed down the stairs looking at my watch. Ugh.. School started in six minutes and I knew I wouldn’t get there on time. I considered staying home, but only for a second, before that thought quickly exited my head; I was not staying with that monster for the whole day, since it was he’s day off of work.
I went out the front door, and into my car, driving down the road as fast as I could.
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