Diary scars (unofficially 'will you be my diary?' )

chapter 1

August 21st, 2019

I sat waiting for my mum outside the surgery room in those terrible and uncomfortable hospital chairs. She's been in there for 5 hours and still I had no word if she was okay. I've been crying for the past 6 hours of today. My dad was an abusive alcoholic, today he go so drunk that I had to witness my mum being hit and smacked around as I could do nothing. I would scream out at my dad to stop, hoping he still had a bit of sanity left in him. But to no luck, he would leave my mum lying on the floor and trod over to me. I remembered how he grabbed a fistful of the front of my shirt and would slap me so hard in the face that I swore I could see the stars circling around.

My mum would scream at him, calling him names like ass-hole and bastard, which only angered him more. We played the game of getting abused like it were a game of dodge ball. He stomped back over to my mum and would kick her in the gut and hiss all kinds of things at her. He would accuse her of being the reason I lost my older sister, Perri, in the fatal accident that almost cost both their lives. I still remember my dad picking up the wooden baseball bat a bit earlier this night. He would swing it into her gut and all I would hear were her painful screams and the crack of bone. I remember crying and screaming. That's when I ran up to my room for two reasons. Me being my 17 year old self, I opened my room door and grabbed the phone. I dialled the emergency number for backup to come help my mum. Then I got all the things I could find and ran back down the stairs. I had an armful of junk in my arms that I loved, but I'd rather break them then have to see my mum get beaten around.

Without thought I remembered hurling a heavy shoe at his head, then a huge and heavy atlas, also a basketball, scissors, another few shoes, pillows (you know the heavy ones), pens, glue sticks and other stationery, a few books, and pretty much everything else I could carry in my room. Then my dad stalked over to me with my scissor in his hand and carved a long painful mark down my face, I thrashed and kicked, but it was no use, and then he dropped the scissors and picked up his baseball bat and gave me a few hits in the leg with the baseball bat. I screamed and cried as I heard the crack. Then I heard the police barge through the door with guns pointed at my dad. They told him to stop and leave us alone. He dropped the bat. The police walked over and threw him to the ground with a knee in his back. They forcefully handcuffed him and walked him out, I still remember the look he gave me, one saying how he'd find a way to make me pay. The ambulance arrived and lifted my mum onto a stretcher and then into the van. A lady in a paramedics uniform came over to me.

"Are you hurt?" she had asked. I said I was fine. She then gave me a check, she looked at my face and my leg.

"You are not fine, you took a pretty bad beating, I think your leg is fractured. And you have a pretty deep cut on your face."said the lady. I shrugged and tried to walk over to my mum, but the lady sat me down again.

"Miss, you need to sit." she said before she lifted me bridal style and walked me over to the ambulance.

"What's your name?" I had asked.

"I'm Amanda Harris, what's your name." I smiled.

"Kimarrah Lack." I had said.

"Well Kimarrah you're a smart 17 year old." She said with a genuine smile before she got inside the ambulance and we drove away to the hospital.

Finally my aunt, uncle and cousins had arrived, they came as soon as they heard the news. Now Alle and Ihzhak sat on either side of me trying to comfort me while my aunt paced up and down. An hour later a nurse came out wearing a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, but your mother didn't make it through surgery." said the lady. I felt myself cry and cry as the news sank in, I was alone, I had no mother, and no father worthy of the title. All I had were my aunt, uncle and cousins who I would have to live with, which meant I would be moving schools.

- Forever confiding in you my beautiful Diary, Kimarrah