I'm currently sitting on the curb, a block away from my house after my abusive father tried to drug me with the opioids he always keeps in his pocket. A car passes by. It stops. Right in front of me. I quickly stand up and dust the dirt off of me. Then it starts going again. Oh, there's a stop sign right next to me. That makes sense. Suddenly I don't feel safe. My mother had somehow trained my brain to think that everything is bad and to stay inside or else. Somehow I know what the "or else" is. If they as much as find out that I'm out here, it would mean a beating for me. Luckily I've taken a few online classes to disable the cameras around my room. I wonder if they'll ever find out? I hear something near me. I'm still... and silent... I try to hide the fact that I'm fucking terrified of my parents. I see a figure coming closer. Finally I can make out the face. Thank god. It's my aunt. "Allison, what are you doing out here?" Aunt Jolie says, sitting down next to me. "Hi." I say, wiping away the tears. "How is everything?" She says, nudging me. "It's fine." I say, not meaning for it to sound sarcastic, but I guess it did. "You know if you want you can come live with me." She says. "No, I'll be fine." I say, wishing she would try to change my mind but she doesn't. "I always knew you were strong." She says. "Yeah." I say, trying to look away from her but I know I can't. The time changes to ten and I know that it's time to go to my house. "I guess I need to go to bed." I yawn. "Okay." She says. "Call me anytime." She says. I guess she doesn't know that my parents don't allow me to have a phone. The minute I step into my house, a beer bottle flies across the kitchen and I hear it shatter. "Allison. Where the hell were you?!" Dad shouts. "I mean you obviously don't have friends you worthless piece of shit." He says. "I was... um doing homework." I say. "Speak up!" Dad yells. "I was doing homework." I say much louder this time. My mother was laying in the corner drunk as fuck like usual. I try to keep my head down as I run upstairs to my room. When I get there I see my bed, and the blanket I'd had since I was 3. I sit down on my bed and I don't even try to stop the tears from falling down. I grab the blade from the window sill and look down at my scarred arms. I don't know why I take all this anger and worthlessness out on myself, but it's the only way that maybe someone will see them and maybe, just maybe, ask me if I was okay.
