"Take this opportunity run away as far as you can without a thought to look back on, Maya this is your chance"
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Maya Townes Bernadette's soul purpose in life was to go above and beyond. Always steering...
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TW•abuse
"Don't raise your voice at me, young lady!" June slurs.
I don't know why I'm always surprised that I fear her. This issue of hers hasn't gone away, I should start getting used to it.
I grown thicker skin as time went one but I don't think I'll fully be immune to it. That's the moment I decided she was just June to me, not my mother.
"Your children are starving," I mumble, referring to my younger siblings. I'd sacrifice a couple of weeks of my own hunger just so they could eat.
Her eyes narrowed at me, setting her glass down filled with an unknown potent substance.
"What are you trying to say, Maya?" She taunts me with her every move. I'm shaking, a woman who was once my mother has me trembling in fear of her next move.
It's been almost three days that my siblings and I had maybe one meal per day. I shouldn't say meal, we have been splitting ramen packets and stale chips.
This is how we got here, I was trying to see if we had anything I could give to them. I know we have some canned food in the cabinets. I was in the kitchen for a minute before the deadbeat in front of me started her shit.
Nothings new.
"James and Lexie, they're hungry," I mumble, pathetically trying to not set her off anymore. She scoffs, throwing her hands in the air.
"You guys are truly ungrateful, I feed my children,"
I shudder with an intense feeling, after almost 8 years of practically raising "her children", it started to feel like they were mine.
My finger tensed into a right fist, looking up to make eye contact with her.
"No, you don't," I say.
"Excuse me-"
"I feed your children," I say, tears brimming my eyes cause I know what I've started. Before I can prepare myself her hand has already made contact with my cheek.
Atleast I know when it's coming now, took me a couple times to figure out how she's wired.
"How dare you! You're going to learn that life is tough, so suck it up, I want this house spotless before I'm back," She says without another word, grabbing her keys and walking out the door. It's already almost 9 o'clock, she's going to be out all night.
I'm left there, on the floor holding onto my chest as I try to calm myself. I've given up on asking god or whoever is up there why this is happening. It's a waste of time, at least to me.
The first time my mother hit me I didn't shed a tear. When she sent me up to my room at 8 years old I sat there, shocked that the woman who brought me into this world could do such a thing.
