The Hell Hole

Imagine a house,

In a small town,

With almost all of the houses surrounding it,

Boarded up and abandoned.

That's where I live.

With him.

The abusive drunk of a dad.

It's like living in hell frozen over.

There is almost always a mess on the floor when I get home.

I never bother picking it up.

Until I know he is about to be home.

I stop reading or doing homework.

Rush to clean it all up. 

Rush to get dinner started.

I fell asleep one day though,

Woke up to him hovering over me in my room,

Yelling at me, shaking me awake.

I normally just ignore it, start cleaning right away,

Whenever this happens. 

But I've had enough this time.

"Reba, you need to start cleaning this place up!

It's a pigsty. Look at this mess.

Clean it up NOW!! Geez Reba,

What are the neighbors going to think?

Let's GO. Get off your lazy bum and clean.

I bet you, if your mother was here, 

You would be freaking cleaning!

You are a no good, ungrateful little BRAT!"

"WHAT NEIGHBORS DAD!? Look around you!

No one lives in this crummy neighborhood anymore!

And why do I GET BLAMED FOR YOUR MESSES?!

You know damn well I don't drink. Those aren't my beer cans.

I clean up every single day. 

I pick up YOUR messes. 

You clean this time."

I shrugged him off and pushed out my bedroom door.

I started to run to the only exit this house has, or tried to.

He grabbed my arm, turned me to face him.

The look in his eyes scared me senseless.

I couldn't move, frozen from the hold.

"Young lady, Who do you think you are you talking to?

LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!"

He practically spit in my face.

Drew his hand across my cheek.

It felt like a knife to my heart.

This was the first time he ever got that nasty.

He never once ever hit me before.

Almost eighteen years passed, and he never got like this.

That's when I smelled the beer on his breathe.

The way he holds himself, like he just got fired, again.

I almost snapped, but I kept my cool

I apologized, asked him to release my arm.

Picked up and got dinner started.

That was the first of many nights to come.

He was home almost every day, drinking, and getting high.

Would go after me if I didn't start on cleaning right away.

My grades started to slip, all because of him.

I never got my homework time like normal.

Last nights, when he was passed out on the couch,

That was the only time I was able to do work.

School was going to be my home, my escape.

If I found reasons to stay after that is.

Just to get away.

Or better yet, it's time I got a job...