The Diary Of A Broken Teenage Girl

Bonus 2: Chrissy

It's been a while and I should be moved on
I shouldn't be writing you this song
You haven't crossed my mind for so long
But tonight, you're a movie that I wanna live on.......
Think of you( Christina Grimmie)

  I went to the cemetery after school today, to see my mom. I hadn't seen her since after the funeral and although I hated to admit it, or had been banned from admitting it, rather, I missed my mom. I missed her like crazy.

  All those nights when dad hit her and I had to watch, and I cried throughout, she was always there, by my side, trying to console me, even though she'd been the one hit, not me.

  She would wrap her arms around me, and hold me, until I stopped crying and sometimes she'd cry with me. And those nights when I was inconsolable, she always called Zoey over.

  I dropped the flowers I'd bought on her grave. They were orchids. Pink orchids. They were her favorite. Because they signified happiness and joy. Which was all she'd hoped to have but never did.

  Standing back, I stared at the tomb stone.  I blinked back tears and bit my lips to keep them from quivering. Uncle Max had said not to go up and down crying and I wasn't about to.

  Soon the tears, I fought so had to keep, blurred my vision. I couldn't see what was written on the head stone but I already knew it at heart.

  It read 'In Loving Memory of Margaret Elizabeth Morgan. A daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother and a friend.'

  'In Loving memory...' I scoffed bitterly. And as much as I fought the thought, I couldn't help but wonder exactly which memories of her were so greatly loved and if she was actually loved.

  I mean, her husband hated her so much he'd beat her to death, and for her parents and friends, I strongly doubt they loved her either. Considering the fact that none of them was smart enough to know that there was something wrong with her. And right now, standing here, I wasn't sure I loved her very much.

  Maybe if we'd all loved her enough, she wouldn't be gone, and I wouldn't be standing here today.

  I shook my head to clear it from all thoughts. I wasn't here to reminisce how bad her life had been. I was here to talk about mine, which was well on the path to what hers had been. Brutal.

  I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to come off all accusatory, though the accusations burned deep in my heart and were at the tip of my tongue.

  After what seemed like forever, but could have just been five minutes, of calming myself down and collecting my thoughts. I started.

  "Hey mom." I intertwined my fingers and moved my weight from one foot to another. "I... Um.... It's been a month since I last saw or heard from you, but it feels like ages."

  I paused. Because I didn't know what to say to her. It had been a month and a lot had happened. I didn't know where to start from.

  "Dad's in jail," I blurted out, finally deciding to start by catching up. "And I wouldn't say that I've been well, because I haven't."

  I swallowed the lump that had begun to form in my throat and pushed all the pain felt to my stomach.

  "I've been staying at Uncle Max's, mom," I said, releasing a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. His name alone made my heart skip multiple beats, made my breath hang and left an acid taste in my mouth. "I... Uncle Max is way worse than dad," I continued. "He's a demon."

  I raised a hand to my mouth as I fought the treacherous tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. "These last few days have been hell for me, and everyday I have to plaster a fake smile on my face and pretend everything is alright. That I'm alright. When nothing is fine."

  A tear slid down my cheek and I swiped it off angrily as I thought of everything I was going through and how things could have been better.

  She could have taken me and we could have run away from dad, but she didn't. She'd stayed there and had gotten herself killed, leaving me with dad's devil's spawn of a brother and his evil wife.

  I refrained from yelling at her and accusing her of being the architect of my problems. But it didn't stop me from asking, "Why'd you do it, mom?"

  I paused and took a deep breath. "Why didn't you take me and run away from dad? Why did you stay there? Why did you let him kill you?"

  My heart was getting heavier than it was before I got here. I'd just intended to have a chat with my mom or a monologue rather, to clear my head, but it wasn't working. My frustration was building up, along side pain and soon, hot angry, frustrated tears rolled down my cheeks. I did nothing to stop them. And they just kept flowing.

  "I'm so scared, mom," I choked out. "And honestly, I have no idea what to do." I licked my lips and wrapped my arms around my stomach, where it hurt the most. "But I do know that if I don't act fast these people will kill me."