Daily Anger

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes I need to let my anger out in the form of writing.

Submitted: January 14, 2016

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Submitted: January 14, 2016

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He puts his arm around her shoulders and leans in close, whispering ‘sweet’ things into her ear. I sit at the other side of the room, glaring at them, my fist clenched on my lap and a low growl forming in my chest, not quite loud enough for either to hear. The pure sight of it makes my stomach churn. I stare intently at them, as though hoping that looks really could kill. Eventually I shut my eyes tight, looking away in frustration. A loud sigh escapes my lips as I jump up from my seat and storm from the room and up the stairs towards my bedroom where I didn’t have to see any more. I slam my door shut and fall onto my unmade bed, flinging my right arm haphazardly across my face. I try to take a few calming breaths, but it doesn’t calm me down.

Why is he still here? After everything he’s done? To her? Everything he’s put her through? How can she stand to be that close to him? How could she possibly believe that he, of all people could change? He’ll always be an abusive, evil, sadistic son of a-

I bang my fist against the bedside table to my left, letting out another, but this time much louder growl. Just the mere sight of him angers me to my core, and he never did anything to hurt me. It was her, my mother, that he did it too. And yet, I’m the one who’s always pissed at him while she just sits there as if it never happened. What makes it worse is that she knows she should get rid of him. She’s said so on those nights where she’s drunk and very bluntly honest with me. The nights when she’s overly emotional and relies on me to reassure her; relies on me to tell her that’s she’s not a bad person.

And that too frustrates me. The fact that she is leaning on me, her fifteen year old daughter, for support, angers me almost as much as he does. When she’s sobbing into my arms, I tell her that it’s ok and that it’s not her fault. That’s a lie. I blame her. I don’t say it, but I blame her because she’s the one who refuses to get rid of him “for the sake of the kids”.

I hate myself for it afterwards. I feel guilty that I blame her. She didn’t ask for him to do those things to her. She thought she married a man who loved her. She couldn’t have known then what he’d do. But then, I remind myself, she knows now. So why does she let him stay after I’ve told her to get rid of him.

I choke back a sob. If he lets him stay, I’m scared he’ll hurt her again. She went to a tarot reading. I know most people think they’re a load of rubbish and don’t mean anything, but sometimes it does make you question things. Like when the Death card comes up. Yes, she went to a reading and that card came up. Essentially, the woman said that if she stayed in this relationship, it’d end up in her death. Even if those things are a load of crap, how do you ignore something like that? And yet, here he stays.

Why won’t she listen to me? She knows I’m right but she just won’t listen. Can’t she understand that I’m only trying to keep her safe? That I can’t bear to see her hurt again? Why-WHY WON’T SHE LISTEN!!

I feel the tears streaming down my face.

I don’t… I don’t want to lose her…

But she won’t listen… how can I help if she won’t listen… I can’t do anything…

I’m useless…

So I sit there. I sit there and I watch. Watch as her puts his hands all over her. Watch, and feel the anger rising, along with my dinner threatening to reappear. I sit and watch. Then when I’ve had enough, I go, quite angrily, to my room and lay down on my bed. And then my thoughts repeat the exact same process all over again… and again… and again…


© Copyright 2018 Chloe Stockdale. All rights reserved.

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