painkillers. - H.S ✔

mom dad sister

"He's hurting you, Marielle! Can't you see that?" My mother yelled into my face. I had a box of my things balanced against my right hip. I'd decided it was enough. They didn't understand that Trent and I were in love. He wasn't hurting anyone.

"Leave me alone! You guys don't understand!" I yelled back, my mother seemed taken back. It wasn't like she hadn't been yelled at before.

"You're pushing everyone that loves you away. Don't leave. Please." I was tired of her begging. I didn't need my Mom or my Dad. I just needed Trent. He was my escape. I threw the box into the back seat of my small car and hopped into the driver's seat.

"Don't leave us, Marielle. Or you're dead to me." My father stated I had to make a serious decision then and there. My parents or Trent?

I slammed the door, giving my father a nasty stare and backing out of their driveway. Not even bothering to make eye contact with them.

-

Trent was gone for work when I woke up. The sun streamed through the white curtains and brightened the usually dark room. I had another dream about my parents last night. It was more of a reflection on what happened that dreadful night.

I hadn't even bothered calling or visiting them since. My sister didn't even bother talking about them whenever we talked. Which wasn't very often as Trent always said that she was a bore and I should stop talking to her.

I managed to pull myself out of bed. I took a glimpse out at the view from my fourth story window. Trent and I lived in Mcadenville, North Carolina. A small town in which Christmas was overdone every year. Never in my life did I imagine myself living in a town that was only known for its obsession with Christmas. I kind of liked it though. It was homey.

The coffee was still in the pot, the door dead bolted as always. It was cold, but I didn't really mind. I sipped on it as if it were hot and laid back in the chair. No noise from the apartment next to mine.

The neighbors had been a kind elderly couple that by my knowledge, had been married for fifty-five years. They were always watching TV at a loud volume. It would make Trent really mad. But I wouldn't complain to them about it. They were living their best lives.

The lady had invited me for some tea and to watch her favorite Soap Opera. Ali was her name. She worried about me a lot. Once she even noticed my recovering split lip. I softly laughed as she rummaged through baskets of medicine trying to find something to help it.

I told her I was fine.

After a few months, the couple just moved out. Out of the blue. I worried at night when Trent was asleep and I truly felt alone; that it was Trent slamming me against the wall, the screaming and the yelling that forced them to move. Trent assured me that they were getting old and probably retired to a retirement home.

The kitchen was dark so I opened the curtains a little. I knew Trent hated the sunshine. But I was home alone so I thought I'd maybe read and enjoy the sunlight for a moment or two.

Trent worked as a mechanic at an auto body shop so he normally came home sweaty and greasy. He'd always smother me in kisses, trying to jokingly cover me with grease. He didn't do that much anymore.

I wanted to get a job. But Trent always said that he was the man of the house and he needed to be the one to provide for me.

I decided instead of reading, I'd call my sister. Today was somewhat of a good day. I had no visible bruises anymore. No cuts. I didn't need to take any painkillers.

I dialed her number, I needed to hear her voice today. My sister and I were always close. But when I met Trent, we drifted apart. She didn't like him very much and he didn't like her very much. He pretty much forbids me from talking to her.

"Hello?" My sister Amara answered, her voice chipper. She was happy. I longed for that. I had it once, with Trent. Now, not so much.

"I miss you." I blurted out, I felt the sudden shift in the mood.

"Where's Trent?" She asked. I didn't like talking about him with her. Amara asked way too many questions, questions that I couldn't say the answers too. Some I didn't even know if I really knew them.

"Work," I replied, smacking my lips together and twirling the phone cord around with my fingers.

"Okay. Let's talk."

-
American hotline for domestic abuse:1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

Website link for more information and numbers:
http://www.thehotline.org

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