I turned up our street and saw my Dad's car parked outside the house. Shit. I walked up to the door trying not to make a noise. I opened the front door as quietly as I could. If he was at home, it means he was sent home. He's always in a bad mood when he is sent home from work.
That's why Mom left. He was always in a bad mood. He'd hurt her. He'd leave bruises and scars and pain. The screams still echo in the back of my head. The pleas. The crying. Begging. Begging not to hurt me. Or her. The moment he'd finished with her he'd come upstairs after me. Eventually, late at night, she left. There was a note at the end of my bed when I woke. It explained that she loved me, but she needed time to recover. It said she'd be back for me soon. But that was eight years ago. I'm now fifteen years old. I don't think I can forgive her.
I tiptoed up the stairs getting halfway up before Dad started talking.
"I got a call from the school." He half shouted. "Apparently, you decided to walk out."
I sighed, walked down the stairs and into the front room where he was sat surrounded by empty beer bottles.
"I'm sorry." I said, quietly. I looked down.
"I send you to a nice school, the school that YOU wanted to go to and you walk out!" He stands up suddenly, causing me to flinch back. He chuckles. "If you don't go to school, I'm going to have to treat this very seriously." He walks closer. I shrink more into myself.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
"Look at me when I talk to you." I don't look up and he grabs my chin, pulling it up.
"Dad, please. I'm sorry."
"Stop snivelling, bitch." He smacks me across the face.
He punches me in the stomach, causing me to fall to the floor. He kicks me again and again.
"If. You. Won't. Take. Your. Education. Seriously..." He lifts me up by my shirt, ripping it.
He pushes me into the mantle piece. I feel my back crack and tears flood my eyes. He smashes my head into the wall and lets go of me. I collapse onto the floor. He laughs and leaves me. I curl into myself and cry. A few minutes later, the front door opened and shut. He was gone. I pulled myself up off the floor, crying out as I did so. I went up to my room and collapsed into my bed. Within minutes, I was asleep.
I was woken up at one a.m, when the front door was slammed shut. I lay still until I hear Dad go to bed. I sat up. I could leave.