It was a Wednesday, a school night. She was in her room doing homework when she heard her mother demanding her to meet her downstairs. She made her way down the stairs and gave her mother a lifeless gaze.

"What is it?"

“It’s time for laundry,” her mother said, mentioning her most dreaded chore.

"I'm in the middle of writing an essay. And why do I have to do his laundry? He never does his own laundry. He doesn't do anything."

A silence followed, and her heart raced. She knew it was going to happen again - their daily argument. The past three months were filled with daily arguments. Her mother raged sometimes, resulting in broken china and other household items. It was her fault her mother was like this; she was the one that wrote in the journal - not being careful, leading to her mother finding it. The contents must've sent her into a fragile state of mind. Just looking at her daughter made her snap.

Not waiting for her mother to answer, she walks to the basement and starts loading the washer. When she's done, she walks up and murmurs under her breath audible enough for her mother to catch it, 

"It's all fun for you; yelling at me."

She goes back to her room and sit in front of her laptop silently waiting for the repercussions. She hears her mother pacing and distracting herself by aggressively washing the dishes - the storm's brewing. She senses that something bad is going to happen but focuses on her essay because it's due the next day. She's typing away and is interrupted by the front door flying open, she jumps and freezes, waiting for what's going to happen next. She doesn't dare make a sound, steadying her breath until she stops breathing all together. 

"THAT FUCKING CHILD.  SHE'S GOING TO FUCKING DIE. WHATS SHE TRYING TO DO?  BREAK OUR FUCKING FAMILY APART?"

She intakes a deep breath of air and listens to her father thunder upstairs.  The sound of his weight thumping on the stairs, every step sent a shiver through her body and a tightness in her chest. She's still at her laptop when the door swings open and she senses a presence hovering over her. He's behind me she thinks to herself, followed by a piercing silence, which breaks from her father screaming, 

"LEAVE. I DON'T FUCKING CARE ANYMORE. LEAVE THIS HOUSE, I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FUCKING DISGUSTING FACE AGAIN."

I never want to see your face again

Flashback: c. 2000

It was 10 minutes before dinner, and her eyes were anxiously glued to the red glossy clock hanging on the wall. The minute hand was approaching 12, meaning it was almost 5:00 PM. She watched it strike 12, eagerly looking at her mother, waiting for the usual ritual before dinner. Her mother ignored her and continued setting the table. She glanced back at the clock, and it was now past the hour. She groaned in disappointment. Her mother walked beside her, towering over her, and said, "Once you tell me what time it is, you can join us for dinner."

She glanced up at the clock. The big hand was past 12 and had hit 1. "I don't know what time it is, mommy," she responded.

"Well, you can wait until you do," her mother said, walking away to the dinner table to join her father and brother and begin dinner.

She stood in front of the clock, staring at it, knowing that no matter how long she stared, she wouldn't know what time it was until the big hand reached 12 again, at which point she would be able to exclaim it was 6:00 PM. They had only learned the hours on the clock at school, but that was no excuse.

She stood there and wondered why she felt so stupid. If she weren't so stupid, she'd be having dinner with her family. She kept staring at the numbers, counting to 12, wondering why they weren't numbered to tell the minutes, and only hours. She thought about how embarrassed she was and how dumb her brother and father must have thought she was. She wondered if she had good posture standing there, noticing all of her body as she stood there and feeling certain muscles getting sore. Her neck felt strained from looking up, and she felt herself getting famished.

The minute hand was now at 11, and she thought to herself that it wouldn't be long until it struck 12. She waited what felt like an eternity, and when it finally landed on 12, she screamed, "It's 6:00!" She turned to her mother and beamed.

Her mother motioned for her to come to the table where everyone else had finished dinner. Her mother put down her plate and started clearing everyone else's plates. Her brother sat at the table, waiting for her to finish dinner, but her mother motioned for him to go play elsewhere. Her dad was sitting beside her, patting her back as she scoffed down her food with tear-stained cheeks. Her mother then asked him to help with cleaning, and he removed himself from the table.

What was left was a little girl, having dinner by herself.

He left her room and went back downstairs, leaving her in a panic state. She felt a compelling fear that leaving was her only option. She was disgusted by herself. How is it that she always got herself in these situations? Running around her room, she threw on a pair of jeans and clean t-shirt. Grabbed her backpack and stuffed it with everything in sight, all while shaking uncontrollably, knocking things over.     

She head down the stairs and runs towards the front door, she had to get out. Get out. Her dad's on the couch and glares at her, "Where the fuck are you going?" The piercing silence returns, everything is muted and all she hears is her racing heart beat.  Trying to ignore the sinking pain in her chest, she whispered "You told me to leave... I'm leaving." She charged at the door with no strategies in mind.  She was too exhausted to think straight, but she was too slow. It seemed like a matter of seconds before he was right beside her.  His wide hand wrapped around her arm gripping her frail arm a little too tightly.

Time stopped. Her heart beat continued to echo in the muted reality and the pain in her chest became unbearable - she was terrified. For a second, she stopped to think, "What is he going to do to me?"  When his grip tightened, she knew exactly what he was going to do.  She started to twist violently, trying to loosen his grip.  But it was no use, she knew very well he wasn't going to let go. He tossed her body across the cold floors and landed with a loud thump as she hit the wall. It didn't hurt, she felt no pain, the impact couldn't compare to the pulling in her chest. 

She got up and headed for the door, he flipped her around and strikes her face. Stunned, embarrassed, ashamed, she looked up at the man she once saw as superman, only to see a look so cold, absent of love, it froze her heart over.

"Take one more step towards the door, and you'll never come back."

She knew, there was nothing that she could do to go back - to change this.  So what was there to lose? Nothing. She blinked away the tears, held her breath and took her step. 

"Leave"

And she was gone.

—

She ran until she couldn't run anymore. She dropped to her knees and prayed for it to stop. If there was a God out there, they would make it stop. It didn't stop.

A hand was gently placed on her back, and she instantly froze up. "Breathe, B, breathe. Deep, slow breaths. It's okay. It's going to be okay," her brother said as he hovered over her. She was still shaking uncontrollably, gasping for air. "Shhh, I promise. You're going to be okay. I promise." She closed her eyes and listened to her heart pound, the muted ringing silence starting to diminish.