BAD BOY ABUSED (male pov)

#5 Don't let the darkness win Liam

I could hear arguments before I even got to my front door and a cold shiver ran down my spine as I prepared myself for what I was about to get. When I opened the door Jax stood before me rooting through my moms bag frantically looking for something.

"Where is it whore?" Jax screamed at her through drunken aggression.

Mom crouched down on the floor with a tear stained face, wiping away the dripping mascara with the sleeve of her dirty blouse.

"I don't have any, you took it." She cried out.

With a big force Jax threw the bag at her, hitting her square in the face and making her sob harder. I knew this was my time to step in before he used his fists next time.

"Don't speak to her like that." I threw the first punch, colliding with Jax's eye, he stumbled backwards but I think that was more due to the alcohol consumption rather than the force of my fist.

"You think you're the big man, do you?"

Jax grabbed a glass bottle from the side, he smashed it against the wood and held the jaggared point sharp in my direction. I flinched backwards trying to avoid his attack but he swiped the skin of my collarbone, I think he was aiming for my neck. Blood trickled out of me but that didn't stop him taking another swipe. This time I avoided the glass. He dropped it to the floor, shattering it at our feet and then threw his fist into my face, hard.

Jax left the house, leaving me and mom alone.

"Are you okay?" I asked mom gently as I could see she was still upset.

"We let you live here, don't forget that. You disrespect me, you disrespect Jax. You're a piece of shit." As I clutched my bleeding neck and panted through my anger I just couldn't help but feel broken from her words. I didn't even reply, I just left shutting out the world in the discomfort of my own bedroom.

I hate the person looking back at me in the mirror, the marks on my body tell a story I don't want to ever be told. Yet I look every time. I take pictures, every time. There's no love here, I need to leave.

***

One.

My feet take me past the houses, I don't know where I'm going but I have to keep walking. I know what I want but I can not have it.

Two.

With every house I pass, things get a little easier.

Three. Four. Five.

The street is quiet in the dead of night, street lamps are lit dimly allowing light to lead a path towards her. A path I seem to be following. Every house on the street looked normal, well cared for with maintained gardens and ideal little mail boxes with personalised flags or names. They looked 'homey' and welcoming. Mine looked like trash because that is exactly what it was.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

I don't know why I'm walking to her house again but I know what I'll do when I get there, I just need to be closer to her. She's all I can think of lately and sitting next to her has brought back all of these memories of the few times I felt happiness and safety. That's what I needed right now.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

Almost there, I can see the light of her bedroom and the purple drapes that hang either side of her window. I let my mind wander to what she's doing in there, probably full from a big dinner that she shared with her family, sat around a table together engaging in conversation about each others day.

Fourteen. Fifteen.

Fifteen houses separated us and I stood outside of hers, the perfectly clean, white wooden exterior with a delightful path made from little circular shrubs that housed pink flowers leading up to a black front door. It was idyllic.  I tugged on the handle of the back gate, it was never locked so I let myself in.