I carefully, slipped into the house, hear the T.V. on, knowing he was probably awake.
I went to my room, and slowly closed the door. I snuggled into my bed and opened up my phone. Amanda posted something, apparently Mr.Brown snitched, and now me and Michael are official, when we haven't started dating.
"EMMA? DID YOU COME HOME?" I heard my father yell from downstairs.
"Yeah!" I yelled back.
It wasn't his fault he drinks. He wanted to feel something after mom died, so drinking helped. I wasn't willing to lose myself, just to feel a little less empty.
I wasn't willing to hurt the people I loved, when I couldn't stop myself.
I roll my sleeves up looking at the scars. I look at on right on my elbow crease, from the week after mom died.
He threw a bottle across the room, and I held up my arms, and I got at least 5 or 6 cuts. I didn't bother bandaging those up, since they were so small.
After that, the morning he woke up, he was frantically apologizing and constantly saying sorry, and I told him it was fine.
After that I got very few cuts. Mom died 5 months ago and, other than the first cuts, I only got 7 of them.
I tried my best to hide them, because if he found out I knew he would blame himself.
I loved my father too much to let him beat himself up about hurting me.
