pennyroyal tea ✧ irwin (1)

6%

dedicated to stockholmzouis bc she's the first to vote ily

three.

| a s h t o n |

I was probably ten when I found out.

I wouldn't consider our house as a home. Behind my mom's smile are tears wanting to be set free. You see, dad doesn't love her. He doesn't love me either. He thinks of us as a burden, and he hates us and his life everyday because of that.

My mom was beyond broken. I would see her caressing her arms sometimes. She'd tell me she hit her arm, but I'm not stupid enough to believe that. I maybe young, but I'm not ignorant. My mind and my consciousness about the world developed earlier than most children, resulting to my open-mindedness about what really goes on behind the curtains.

My mom would carry this black notebook around whenever dad's not home. She'd sit next to the window or on the kitchen table to write in it. And whenever she thinks I'm not looking, she'd glance at me and scribble something in her notebook. She thinks I never notice. But when you have nothing to focus on, even the smallest things that you normally wouldn't notice become so obvious. I know that she writes about me, and I want to know what she has to say.

It was my birthday that day. Out of pity, my mom decided to call my grandparents (without my dad's consent) to celebrate my birthday. Dad couldn't say no when other people are in the house. He puts on this kind and loving facade to hide the true monster residing inside of him.

I took it as an opportunity to finally steal my mom's diary. As more people began to show up, I saw my chance to go upstairs undetected. I hurriedly went to my parents' bedroom and turned the knob and pushed the door open. To any normal person, the room would look occupied by a couple who loved each other very much. But to someone like me, who witnesses the filth of this house firsthand, the room looked like a hellhole. This is where they would frequently fight, and this is where my dad would constantly rape and beat my mom. He even has a used bat sitting in the corner.

I rummaged through the cabinets to find the notebook. I looked everywhere, and as I was on the verge of giving up, I noticed a Van Halen poster my mom hung beside her desk. One of its corner was hanging off. I ripped the poster off and came upon a huge hole in the wall. I stuck my hand in and felt the leather-padded cover of my mom's diary.

I flipped it open and hastily read every entry.

November 7, 1982

I can't stand it anymore.

My body's too tired to even function in this hellhole. I'm too beat up to do anything like a normal housewife would. I'm too frayed to even take care of my own son. It pains me everyday to see him not able to live like a normal child. He's robbed of his childhood-not enough toys to play with, not enough food on his plate, and not enough love from his parents. It pains me to see the look he gives me whenever he sees my bruises. It hurts to see him hurt.

I should've taken that abortifacient Lucy gave me before. That way, he would never be able to see the painful truth of this world. I would still be happy today if I never gave birth to him. Tom wouldn't be beating me up every day to remind me how much of a burden my son and I are to him.

I want to die.

Then I heard the door open. My mom was standing there, tears sliding down her cheeks as she saw me reading what she wrote about me.

I closed the book and laid it carefully on the bed.

I felt absolutely nothing.

a/n:

triple update lolololol

give this story sum luv its christmas cmon c: ily -angelika