Something That Catches My Eye

Chapter 1-Run

Looking at the bruises isn't so bad anymore. I must be used to them, I tell myself with a humorless chuckle. The bruises seem to multiply as they reach my upper body. There are only two on my thigh. My torso is worse. My ribs have been painted an ugly range of blues and purples, and my upper arms are adorned with many similar shades. My left wrist is encircled by large purplish bruises the size of fingertips, and my jaw has a raw cut on it. Looking in the mirror at my defiled body, I graze my fingers over the marks and wince a little. Ok... maybe I'm not used to them. Still, they will pass, in time. Everything does.

Staring in the mirror, I look myself in the eyes and examine my features. Beyond the cut on my chin, my face doesn't look too bad. The other bruises have long since faded. I run my fingers through my messy blonde waves and pull it into a ponytail, noting that I need to wash my hair desperately. My plump lips look chapped and the cut on my bottom lip keeps cracking from crying. My blue eyes look more grey now. I used to be able to look myself in the eyes and see the fire within, but that fire was put out a long time ago. There's no emotion anymore. I might as well be dying inside. I tell myself to stop with the poor-me attitude. No one cares, anyway, I think to myself.

Come on, father. Please get home soon.

I hear the door open and shut and heavy footsteps soon follow. I press the home button on my iPhone to check the time. 4am, Dad? Again?

I knew that he was stressed out, but I had been praying that he wouldn't do this. Maybe God has more important things to worry about than the half-believing prayers of a teenage girl. Maybe.... maybe I should check on him. Surely he wouldn't...? No. Don't think about it, Ariana. He is trying.

I walk downstairs from my purple bedroom. I'm just wearing my Tinker Bell bottoms and a tank top, and slippers. It's too hot for anything else. Who knew summer could be THIS hot in Kentucky? Of course, if the bills had been paid recently the air conditioning would still be running.

I see dad standing by the couch in the living room, his back to me. He is holding a beer bottle in his right hand. His dark hair looks pushed back, like he has been tugging it all night. His work clothes are dirty enough that I suspect he went straight to the bar after work for happy hour. Or hours, in his case, since his shift ended at 11.

I know something is wrong. I have had this feeling before, and I should know better than to ignore it. Still, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, to show him that I'm trying, too.

"Dad...are you ok?"

He turns around and I can tell at once that he is beyond drunk. I can always tell with just one glance. I can always see it in his eyes. His eyes are a deep green when he's sober, but when he's drunk, they become red and bloodshot. But it's not just the color. I can see as soon as he turns around that he has that look in his eye. It's not a happy look, or a sad look, or a frustrated look. It's a look of pure fury. Nothing good ever happens when his eyes are like this. Please, not again, I beg silently.

"Dad, calm down," I say placatingly, "Everything will be ok."

He looks dead at me, right into my terrified blue eyes, and points.

He says only one thing: "You deserve this, Anna."

And with that, he charges me like a raging bull, beer bottle raised in his hand. There is no stopping him. Who will save me now, when he thinks that I'm my mother?

Running up the stairs, I barely get away. I slam my bedroom door shut and lock it. I hear his bottle shatter on the floor, and that's when the slamming and kicking starts.

"Open this door, Anna!" he screams, "You deserve this crap! You did this to me!"

Tears start to roll down my cheeks as I hurry from the abused door. I open my closet and grab my two backpacks, knowing I'll have to leave everything else. There's simply no time.

I have prepared for this day for a long time. I'm leaving. I can't deal with this anymore.

"ANNA! Open this freakin door or I will slam this on your face too!" The door shudders.

Quickly, I tie a bunch of sheets together and tie one of the ends to my bed frame. Opening my window, I throw the end of my makeshift rope out to the ground. I hold on to my backpacks, and grab the heart-shaped locket on my dresser. It's now or never.

SNAP!

I make the mistake of turning, and I see the red eyed monster I've come to know. He is breathing heavily and is bleeding from multiple scrapes on his hands from beating the door. He broke the door in half. Pieces of splintered wood lie everywhere.

"Get here NOW! Don't you dare leave me!"

There is no time now. Barely managing to grab onto the sheets, I leap out the window and land in the bushes below. I start to run and I don't stop.

"ANNA! ANNNNNAAAAA!"

The anger in his voice nearly pulls me back to him, out of fear. No, Ariana, I tell myself. Keep going. You don't deserve this anymore, and there's no need to feel guilty about leaving him. Go.

I have to keep telling myself to leave that little white house with the faded white picket fence in the back. This house holds all the memories I have of my mother. She was the most wonderful, beautiful person I've ever known. She was the only one who cared for me. I was her only child... but she is gone now. There is NOTHING for me in that house anymore.

Dad's angry, threatening voice is the last thing I hear before I'm out of earshot, and heading for the city on the far side of the county. My goal is to be near Louisville, but anything will be better than this place. I just have to pass these stupid farms first.

"You little piece of trash! I'LL FIND YOU ANNA," I hear dad bellow in the distance. "YOU JUST WAIT AND SEE."

Just. Keep. Running.