The Girl Next Door

~17~

                            "Whatever it is, it's just sitting there, laughing at me. And I just wanna scream..."

Robyn Fenty

"Get offa meh!" I scream, kicking at the person on top of me.

"Shut tha fuck up!" He growls, pinning me to the cold wooden floor of my room.

I scream for my mother, although it's obvious she doesn't even care. All she does is watch or disappear out of sight.

"D-dad-"

A punch is delivered to my jaw, making my head snap to the side. I let out a groan and close my eyes as pain shoots through my head.

"We luh ya. Why can' ya un'stand t'at? Why ya hadda go an' do t'is?" He slurs, lying on top of me while starting to cry.

I shake my head trying to get out of his grip,"p-please..."

"No! I luh ya. A-an'..." He stops and raises his head to meet my eyes. I close my eyes and prepare for his endless physical abuse that I endure everyday.

But it doesn't come. Instead, I feel a pair of hands roughly tug at the waistband of my basketball shorts.

"W-wha' are ya doin'?!" I scream, struggling underneath him.

"Ya wan' betray us? I got some fa ya," He growls, pulling at my shorts again.

I use all my strength to push him off of me, then I scramble to my bed, in search of my gun underneath it.

Right now I'm at my wits end.

I've had enough of the abuse.

The going to school with scars and bruises.

The fact that my parents are drunkies and cokeheads that torture me endlessly because I told them I'm different from every else.

"Wha' tha fuck ya doin'?" My father growls from behind me.

I get a good grip on the gun's butt, but I suddenly get yanked backwards by my ankle.

Almost immediately, I begin struggling and kicking with my other leg. He easily wraps his hand around my neck, lifting me from the ground. I begin struggling and scratching at his hands, feeling my air quickly getting shut of.

He then tosses me across the room, making me hit my head on the dresser. Pain shoots through my head and automatically, I can feel blog floating from a gash.

As I lie on the floor, I see a lit candle roll off of the dresser and make its way to my curtains. Almost immediately, the cheap silk catches fire, casting a orange glow across the dark room. Smoke fills the room, clogging my wind pipes.

"See wha' ya did?" My father grits, sending a heavy kick to my ribs.

I groan, feeling my consciousness fading fast. Through the slits of my eyes, I can see my gun peeking out from underneath my bed. It's just about 5 feet away from me.

I can see my father starting to walk out of the room, so I take that open chance and reach for the gun.

Aiming for his left leg, I pull the trigger.

His body seems to fall to the ground in slow motion, a scream coming from him.

I shakily stand up to my feet and walk over to the screaming man. I shoot him in his other leg, reducing his screams to whimpers. I would kill him off quickly, but I want him to suffer. Suffer like I have been doing for the last 7 years.