The reason

Chapter 8

"Where the hell have you been?" Mum demands, spittle flying from her mouth. Instead of anger in her eyes there's a lurking madness. That reflective glint you don't usually see in people. "Mr. Neegle wanted to talk to me." I say, keeping my head down. "Lies!" She screeches and deals me a ringing blow to the side of the head. There's no threats, just insane aggression. I stagger back as her fist slams into my gut, harder than most people would expect from a drunk woman. But madness is driving this one along. I stumble and fall to the carpet under her flying punches. I try to curl up into a ball, to protect my stomach, but she lands kick after kick. I hear a snap as a rib cracks and struggle to suck in a deep breath. Tipping slightly, she catches herself with her hands as she falls towards me. With a death like grip she curls her fingers around my arm, her nails digging into my wounds. I grit my teeth against a scream as she pummels my face with her other hand. I feel my nose re-break and wrack my scatter mind as to what is adding the extra aggression.

Then I realise, it's the anniversary of my brother's death. The day she broke, starting the descent to insanity. I completely forgot in my distraction at school. I look into her eyes and I see a monster that is not my mother. My mother was lost six years ago. I let her take it out, feeling blood trickle from my mouth and down my chin. After all, everyone needs a punching bag. Finally blissful blackness greets me.

Water splashing onto my face shocked me back into awareness. For a moment everything was utterly soundless and I struggled to get one eye open. The other refused. A palm smacking my cheek let in all the sounds around me, bringing me fully back into my body. "Wake up." A derision raised voice said, slapping me again. It wasn't hard but it caused a deep painful ache across my face. My eyes wander then focus on the blurry shape of my mother. "Good. Get up." Her tone is demanding and devoid of mercy. As soon as I focus on my limbs I become aware of the screaming pain my body's in. It's like a giant bruise being stomped on over and over.

"I said, get up!" I honestly don't know if I can, she's never been this bad before. I concentrate and move one leg a little, wiincing as hot fire travels all the way up it. All too aware of mum watching I slowly turn my body so my face is to the carpet. Slowly, I pull my knees up to my stomach and push myself halfway to my hands and knees. I think I'm going to fall back down, my arms are trembling so bad. "Get out of the house, I don't want to have you here tonight." I hear her march to the front door and fling it open. If I was steady enough, I'd probably look at her. But I can imagine the look she's giving me, sneering and scornful. I know if I get into a standing position I'll fall back down and I don't think I'd have the strength to do this again. It's now or never.

As fast as I can, which is incredibly slow, I shuffle my hands forward and half kick, half drag my legs after me. In this fashion I drag myself past mum to the door. It feels like hours before I get there, and when I do my body's burning with excrutiating pain, my arms completely exhausted. My legs bounce off the three steps leading out the front door jarring painfully. By this time though I just don't care, it takes all my effort to focus on this one goal, getting away. I hear the front door slam and the locks click into place, but they sound far away, like sound travelling through water. Unable to hold my weight any longer, my arms give out and my front drops heabily to the concrete path. Unsure of what to do and where to go now I manage to pull myself a few more metres to the front lawn. The cold, soft grass is amazing, it feels more comfortable than any bed right now. I lie the side of my face against it, listening to my ragged breathing.

My pain is my companion, a part that stays with me as I float, lighter than air. As I lie there, the situation starts to seem a little funny. My drunken mother is stronger than me. A small chuckle bursts out of my worn lungs. A small part of me says that I'm going crazy. The other part says being crazy isn't that bad. I think I'm hearing things when a low voice says, "Reegan?" Hallucinations aren't that bad, I think. They're more real than I expected. "What are you doing out here?" Ben asks, curiosity in his vioce. I may as well play along with it, it's better than being bored. "I'm looking at the stars." I reply, my voice half muffled from the grass. "Are you my guardian angel did my brother send you?" The need to ask that question just rose inside me. My voice sounds strong to me, as normal as ever, but he says, "Why are you whispering, is something wrong?" He's very good at pulling things out of voices. I can't help a painful wracking laugh bursting through my lips. "If only you knew." I say.

He gently rolls me onto my back, so he can get a good look at me. Suddenly it isn't as funny when I see his face. His caring green eyes that widen when he sees my face. "My God, what happened to you're face?" He asks, carefully running his finger down my non-swollen cheek. His touch makes me realise that I'm not dreaming, no dream could so perfectly imitate that touch. A touch I haven't known in years, gentle and soft, and something to be craved. This is real. In my head, the two voices argue. Shut your mouth, don't say a word, or he'll get the police involved. He'll realise what a freak you are. Says my stronger personality. Oh, who cares? We are freaks and he's already involved. That's from my dreamier, pain induced one. Then I realise he's waiting for an answer. But I still dont know what to say, so I just stare at him. If I die, at least the last thing I see won't be so bad.

"Who did this to you? You can tell me, Reegan." His voice is soft and makes me think of feather flying on the wind, higher and higher. Shrinking until it goes from a speech to nothing.

"Was it Brian?" The vioce keeps shattering my dreams, bugging me into feeling the pain. I feel myself starting to get irritated. "Brian's not so bad." I mumble, wishing he'd just go away and let me sleep.    "Is it trouble at home, your parents?" My mouth opens of its own accord and starts babbling everything, despite my mind yelling at it to be quiet. "My dad left when I was ten, he doesn't care about me. My mum's a drunk that has about a hundred different medications. She's gone mad." I chuckle inwardly at the use of the word mad. It's like a personal joke, even though I don't know the punch line.

"Did she do this to you? Reegan?" I shut my eye, my limbs feeling heavy, too heavy, and mumble, "Lemme sleep." I feel separated from my body, like I'm the floating feather and I want to sleep so bad. "Don't go to sleep! Stay with me, Reegan." So worried, so stupid. It's just a little sleep. But he wants me to stay awake, and I want him to be happy. Sadness doesn't suit him.

A/N Sorry I haven't uploaded in a while, blame the invention of homework! Anyway, Reegan is just starting to realise that Ben could be a good guy and not everyone's bad. No, she hasn't realised her true feelings for him yet.