The Beatles

12. George Harrison- Savior

A/N: This one is kinda personal for me. But I decided to write about it to get my feelings across. But this is an exaggerated fiction tale.

Warning: Mentions of Abuse!

Every morning I wake up, it's something new.

That I didn't wash the dishes, or I didn't mop the floors the way you wanted me to.

Instead I waste my time outside, taking pictures and doing photography, but you don't think that's important to me.

I just want you to be proud of me, but you don't seem to care.

When I show you a writing piece that I had done or a portrait I made, you criticize me and tell me that I'm wasting my time. I should focus on being a doctor instead.

So you want me to be a sleep-deprived, possible coffee-addict, who works all day, all night? Thanks for having my best interest at heart.

Sometimes, you drag me to go places with you, and when I don't enjoy myself, I am suddenly an embarrassment and you wish that you never had kids.

I wake up and you're in a completely different mood, that sometimes I avoid you just to avoid conflict.

But one day, you had enough.

"Get out, you good for nothing child! You are such an embarrassment and it'll be too soon before I see you again!" My mother shouted as she pushed me and my bags, that she packed, out of the front door.

"But..." I whimpered as the door slammed closed in my face. "Mom.... please..." I fiddled with the door knob, but quickly realized it was locked. "Mom... please! I'll do whatever you want me to!" I banged on the door with my fist as hard as I could, but I knew she would continue to ignore me.

I wiped the tears that were streaming down my face as I left the front of my house. What was I supposed to do now?

Flashbacks of my father's voice entered my head.

"She's just having a rough day."

"Don't listen to her."

"(M/N), you can't say things like that to her."

My eyes shut themselves as more tears began to fall. What am I going to do now? I don't have any money, it's nighttime and I don't have anywhere to go...

But I do know my mother's bank info. Maybe I could "borrow" some to rent a room at the nearest hotel.

So I held my bag tightly and walked over to the nearest hotel.

"How much for a room?" I asked the receptionist, as she looked me up and down in a judgmental way.

"$200 a night." I gasped. I couldn't take that much from my mother because it would be noticeable that she was missing money and she would probably be able to figure out where the money went, right?

"Oh okay, sorry to bother you." I walked past a group of men, and I noticed one of them was watching me through the glass door of the hotel as I ran out, and I tried to stop myself from crying from embarrassment.

I found a dark alleyway next to the hotel and sat there, trying to figure something out. Where was I going to stay for the night?

"Oh God... Why is this happening to me?" I prayed deep in my heart. "God, I thought you cared. Why am I on the street now? Are you angry with me too? Are you going to tell me that I'm ugly or I'm not the smartest? Well I already know that. But I thought you were supposed to be kind and loving. This doesn't show that."