1. Fed Up
I slid down the purple wallpapered wall in tears, my face was swollen and felt like it had just hit a brick wall. Blood from my lip slid down my chin and onto my pink and white polo. i held my face in my hands and sobbed, Chris had won, yet again. He took his fury out on me, if a man so much as talked to me I was accused of cheating. Today I had apparently talked to a co-woker of his, I didn't even know where he worked none the less met anyone he worked with. i looked at my arm. The pale skin was battered and bruised from all of his attacks. Chris popped his blonde head of hair into the hallway with an innocent look, his grey eyes searching my face for forgivness. He walked towards me, his tall and muscular body marching in a source of pride in the job he had done. He took his hand in mine and pulled me up, setting his big hands on my petite waist. I stopped crying and slapped him, hard, my hand stung but i threw it to my waist and tossed his arms off of me, "Don't touch me. You have officially lost that right." he smirked, "Kay, you know I love you" he said gently setting his hand on my cheek stroking it slowly, as if to show he wasn't the jerk he really was., "But, you can't talk to other men babe." he leaned closer to me attempting to kiss me. The odor of mulch and cigarette smoke overwhelmed me, filling my nose. I coughed and pulled back, his palm smacked against my cheek. My hand instantly rushed to cheek. My flesh was raw and tingling, tears ran down my face from the pain, "Filthy, ungrateful, SLUT!" he spat atme, "You don't understand how far you're gonna push me girl. One day I'm going to snap and really hurt you." I looked at him, anger and embarassment flew through my veins. Chris walked into our bedroom and slammed the door. I went into the livingroom and checked to see if my bag was still packed and ready. I have finally had enough, I am done with Christopher Alonzo. I quietly walked through the creaky hallway. Everytime it creaked, I froze. Was I really that afraid? Had I let this man get the best of me? I hung my head in shame and checked behind the loose floor board behind the leather beat up couch. Underneath it I found my bright red duffel full with enough supplies to last me one week on my own. I set the loose oak board back down and went to my bedroom. Chris was rolled on his side shirtless, his prison tattoo visible on his upper shoulder. I changes into a cami and a loose hoodie. I paired that with a pair of jean shorts. i carefully walked to the bathroom and let my curlt brown hair fall past my shoulders ina heap. I glanced into the mirror at my complexion, my face was black and bluewith a hand print to help emphisize the fact that i looked like crap. I went through my dressers to make sure I had everything that had a source of charishment to it. The only things I could find were a locket my grandmother gave me before she passed, a few photos of my family and silver friendship braclet my friend Eleanor had given me before she went back to the U.K. I drew in a shaky breath and went out the front door, my duffel bag firmly placed on my shoulder. I had only four hundred dollars to my name and had to do something fast. I ran down the sidewalk avoiding eye contact with the people that passed me. A few stared and looked back at me, their eyes following my path, others shook their heads in simpathy. I walked into the gas station and bought a cell phone and some minutes. I found a park bench and sat down on the cold rusted metal instantly sending goosebumps up my legs. The only number I knew by heart anymore I dialed instantly. Three rings later a gentle voice answered the phone, "Hello? Who is this." I hadn't heard her in almost four four years and yet I never quite forgot it. My voice was shaky unaware of how she would react to to hearing from me. " Eleanor, it's Kyla. I'm in trouble."