Don't be scared ~ Diane Sherman

Staying on my mind

TW// Abusive parents

"GET UP IN THERE" I hear the harsh voice of my mother's partner yells as he slams his rough hands against the door.

A low volume groan leaves my mouth as I sit up and my socked feet hit the cold floor, I hear loud footsteps retreat, indicating hank is no longer near my dreadfully un-organized bedroom.

I gather my strength and push myself off my bed into the standing position, no amount of sleep could relive the constant fatigue that over comes my body.

I rip apart my bedroom in search of the only sweater I ever wear, ripping through the boxes until I see the familiar black, worn out fabric of my hoodie. I pull the soft fabric over my messy hair with a sigh.

I slowly near the door but hesitate for a moment when I hear my mom yelling horrible words and trashing the house in search for something. The feeling of regret comes rolling over me as I remember leaving the box of books in the back of the truck. I take a deep breath, in attempt to ready myself for the problematic insults of my troubled mother.

I slowly turn the metal door nob and push the door open, trying to suppress any noise it could produce, I poke my head out of the small crack I have opened and look around. My mother has completely disorganized house, a mixture of clothes and house hold items spread across the floor as she  searches frantically.

My heart drops the moment she lays eyes on me, my mother always shows when she's angry. A fire burns behind her dark brown eyes and her face is as red as  a tomato, I panic and try to shut the door but my mother is too quick. She pulls the door open, ripping the door nod from my soft hands in the process. I back up slowly, trying to get my space between the furious women who stands before me. "Next time you want t-to leave items" she slurs her words and pauses as a hiccup pushes through her lips, it's clear she's been drinking. "You think about THE FAMILY" it's no time before I feel the familiar heat spread across my cheek followed by the stinging pain my mothers hand leaves behind. I try my best to contain the tears that threaten to fall from my eyes, but it's no use, They come, and they come fast. A never ending waterfall of warm salt water.

"Oh are you gonna cry" my mothers words coming out mockingly. I shake my head frantically, the last thing I want to do is cause her more aggression. SLAP, another stinging pain spreads across my soft skin, the force of which is projected from this slap is harder than the last, I fall onto the ground. The cold floor presses against my hot cheek as my mother stands over me, spitting out an evil laugh. She enjoys seeing me like this, she always abuses her power of authority, as does hank.

"Why don't you do something useful and get the mail" my mothers foot slams into my stomach and her saliva is projected into my face before she makes the decision to exit my room.

I aggressively wipe my mothers spit off my face, along with my tears. There is no use in crying about anything, it's not going to help. Once again I pick my tired body off the floor and try not to break into sobs. Maybe getting the mail would do me good, I could get out of the house.

I walk out of my bedroom avoiding eye contact with my mom and hank, as they sit on the couch drinking, what looks like their third beer this morning. Hank chuckles at my messy appearance and continues to sit around like a slob.

I approach the key rack to see the car keys out of their usual spot, "where are the keys?" I yell out to either one of my 'parents'.

"Why do you need them?"hanks horse voice replies.

"Mom said to get the mail"

"You can walk" she calls out.

I don't want the commencement of an other argument so I huff and open the door. My actions are not passed by my mother, like the wind she jumps off the couch and charges towards me, I get a rush of adrenaline and hurry out the door, I slam it just as my mother tries to pull me in. "OH YOU LITTLE-"

I run far from the house before my mother can verbally abuse my any more.

I turn back to the sight of my dreadful house, it's quite far, I don't think my mother is coming for me. With a huff I continue walking down the dusty dirt road in search of a mail box.

My feet make low thumps against the dry dirt as I desperately try to spot a mail box, but the further I go, the further my hope slips away from me.

I come in view of the beautiful home the neighbours own, a small smile graces my lips as I day dream about what it would be like to have the perfect house and the perfect life, I'm zoned back into reality when I hear the rustling sound of a vehicle driving towards me. I steer closer to the tree line giving what sounds like a big vehicle more space. Just as I presumed, it's a truck, but not just any truck.

A mail truck cruses past me, great the mail gets delivered. I groan and turn swiftly on my heal. I head back to my 'beloved' house. If only people knew what goes on.....

As I approach neighbours house the mail truck drives past me once again, I notice a young girl in a wheelchair sitting in the door way. She looks up and meets my gaze, she gives me a friendly wave, I gladly return it.

A beautiful women emerges from the house and stands behind the young girl, lovingly stroking her light brown hair.

I'm taken back from her beauty and stare for a moment before the gorgeous women welcomes her eyes with mine, she shares some what of the same stunned facial expression, most likely taken back from seeing an other living being back this dreadful road.

The young girl in the wheel chair waves her hand in front of who I guess is her mother's face. The women is brought back into this reality and an embarrassed expression washes over her admirable face.

I blush lightly and continue to carry on my way back to my house, one that is not a home.

After much thinking about the beautiful neighbour on my walk, I quickly open the white painted front door of my house. I take feathery steps as I try not to alert my 'parents' and hurry to my bedroom. Luckily they have both fallen into a deep slumber on the living room couch.

I sneakily open my bedroom door and enter without a sound.

I dodge the mess by tiptoeing on the little floor that is showing through the mix of clothes and bedroom decor.

I push open my curtains and look out at the cloudy sky along with tall trees that seem to scrape against it. Sighing, I slope over to the packed boxes and proceed to pull out the accumulated items I have collected, since my mother fails to buy me the basic necessities.

I pull out some more of my comfort blankets and throw the soft pieces of fabric on top of my bed.

Next I take out my extra teddies, none of which surpass the amount of comfort my most important teddy brings me. My grandmother had gifted me with my now comfort item before she sadly passed.

After what seems like an eternity of correcting my bedroom I'm finally finished, I sit back on my bed and admire the room I've so perfectly put together. With what I hade to work with I've decorated my bedroom in a way I enjoy, probably more childish than a person my age would enjoy to spend their days, but I like it. The childish manner brings a type of comfort to me, and helps me forget the awful recent past I've lived and aides me in remembering the days of my life before they became troubled.

I spend the rest of my day watching cartoons on my iPad and snuggling with my teddy, too scared to fix anything to eat, I go to sleep on an empty stomach.

I dream sweet dreams of the perfect life, not like the one I have been so horribly birthed into.