Chapter Nine

Large purple marks stained Mum's face at the dinner table. Heather's stringy hair seemed to cover her eyes so much I was surprised she could still see, and the Monster was watching a footy game on the small T.V in the lounge. A half-empty whiskey bottle was in his hands, an empty Vodka tipped over on the floor. The ash tray on the coffee table hadn't been emptied for days. Mum seemed so lost, so tired. The bags under her eyes were deeper than before, her hair was thinning although she tried her best to hide it. Only a few weeks had past and she was already in distress. “Mum,” I whispered. “just kick him out.” Heather watched me in silence but I pretended not to care. Mum shook her head. “No... we can't... we... need the money... it's okay...” I couldn't believe it. Monster had already bleached her mind with his punches and blows. I felt so sorry for her. All she needed was someone to save her, and her own daughter couldn't even do that. I bit my lip as I left the table. No one's dinner �" except Heathers that is �" had been touched. I ran upstairs, but footsteps followed. In hopes of it being Mum I turned around, only it wasn't who I hoped it was. Heather. “Go upstairs then.” she growled. Her voice was deep and angry, like a man. I raised my eyebrows as I walked up as slowly as possible. “Not your house,” I said. “Not your Dad.” she said. That struck me like a needle. “Excuse me?” I couldn't believe what she had just said. Instead of answering me she pushed me into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. “Thinking your brother is all so important. Winning people over with that sad story won't do you any good.” I grabbed the sides of the sink, breathing sharply. “I don't know what you're talking about,” I muttered. Heather wrenched my shirt with her fist and pushed me against the wall. “You think you're strong huh? Smart? You're a worthless brat that stole my dad away.” Punch. “You think you know everything?” Kick. “Hah! Well do you know that you're gonna be dead, just as good as he is!” Scratch. My eyes were blurry, my face was bleeding. I lay on the cold tiles for seconds that rolled into minutes. Hours. The last thing I saw was the bathroom cabinet swaying slowly before everything went black.

Saturday. I woke up in the bathroom, memories of last night were vague and dark. I pulled myself up to face the mirror. Ouch. A large scar ran from my cheekbone down to my lip. My arm was numb and covered in bruises, while my stomach had a cramp on the side. I staggered out of the room to find the house empty. Wincing my way to the table I saw a note, stained with coffee: 'Gone out to organize what is happening with your father. Chicken in the fridge �" home late. Mum'. At the end of the note, Mum's phone number was scribbled in red pen. I crumpled the note and shoved it into my jacket before grabbing the keys off the bench and heading outside, closing the door behind me.