So What If It's Us?

Found

TW: Self-harm, suicide, and abuse

Zoe's POV

I sat there in my room, replaying the events of the previous night. I remember Mom and Dad were fighting over Connor. Mom believed he truly needed help. Dad believed it was all an act. He was cutting and doing drugs for attention.

I knew Connor wasn't hurting himself for attention. He was doing it as a punishment. After he screamed and yelled and hit me, he would avoid me. Whenever I saw him there would be a look of fear in his eyes. A look that mirrored my own.

I shuddered as my mind replayed dark memories that I tried to fight off.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, you bitch!" Connor yelled through my door. I bit back a whimper as tears dripped onto my carpet. What did I do to deserve this?

I cried harder as he started to pound on the door, causing it to rattle on its hinges. After a few minutes it stopped. I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

All of a sudden, Connor punched the door. His fist ran through and left a hole. Shrieking, I ran into my bathroom. I heard his thundering footsteps walk through my room. I locked the door and prayed this one would hold up.

A seemingly endless cycle of screaming and pounding on my door began. I hid in the shower and covered my ears. No one would be coming to rescue me. Connor would only stop if he passed out. He never gave up on this.

My heart skipped a beat as I heard the wood start to splinter.

"Please, don't." I begged in a whisper. My prayers went unanswered as he punched through the door yet again. I would have one hell of a bruise to cover up tomorrow.

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve.

I hated Connor. He always finished the milk. Always caused problems. Had been my tormentor for years. 

There was a part of me, a tiny part, that still loved him. It had broken my heart when he tried to kill himself. Whenever he got high or drunk. Whenever I saw fresh scars on his arms that I tried to ignore.

After Connor had kicked Dad and gotten punched, he left. A few hours later when he hadn't come home, I started to worry. He could be seriously hurt somewhere or be overdosing and we wouldn't know it.

This morning, when he still hadn't come home, I called my friend Piper.

"Piper, I'm so worried about him! He hasn't been home in hours!" I wailed into the phone.

"Just calm down. I'll ask a few friends if they've seen him." She told me. I took deep breaths as she hung up. 

Minutes felt like eternity. Hours seemed to pass. Panic clawed it's way up my throat once again. I jumped when my phone rang. Maybe it's Connor! A hopeful part of me cheered. I was disappointed to see a smiling picture of Piper. She might've found him though, I reminded myself as I answered.

"I found him!" She yelled into the phone. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is he okay? Where is he?" I asked her.

"Connor is fine. He's with his friend Michael. My friends Megan and Julia were hanging out at Michael's when Connor stopped by. He's staying there." Piper told me.

"I gotta go Piper. I'm picking him up. Thank you so much." I said as I hung up. Grabbing my car keys, I exited my room and ran down the stairs.

"I'm picking up Connor!" I shouted to my parents, wherever they were. I left the house too quickly to hear the response, if there was any.