Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > around the world
hey people. it gets happier at the end i promise you :] and there are mentions of fall out boy later on and it all ends very well for pete and patrick too.
Standing in church I couldn't believe it. Bad smelling flowers were arranged all around me nearly setting off my asthma. It was dragging a little, so I found a seat over to the side and leant back very uncomfortably with my hands in my pockets. I'd also [very discreetly] stuck my earphones in playing my favourite playlist. Fall out boy, if you must know. I sighed. Apparently loudly enough for a short fat woman in a hideous purple ensemble to turn around and give me a look. I hate old people. All so a sudden, the music started and I leapt back up to the alter.
I haven't been here in so long. Not since I was only little and my mother would bring me here, mostly just to get away from what was at home. She used to drag me out of bed at ungodly hours just so we could sit in the silence and hold each other while she sobbed silent tears. I never minded. I was just glad she was away from that hell hole. Every time she went to wipe her eyes, her rough coat sleeve would rub my face since she was clutching me so close. So close to her warm, protective chest that I could hear her heartbeat even through everything she was wearing. I didn't mind though. As long as she had me and I had her, I had a sure idea that it would turn out ok. My attention would be staring at her latest bruise, scar, tear in the skin, burn, or missing tooth. Father, as I called him although he was no such thing to me, was the reason for this. It's always so much worse when someone you have faith in hurts you. Your whole world snaps into a million pieces, you feel like every person in the world know's what they're doing and you have no clue. It feels as though someone's dropped you... which I suppose is a very good analogy for what happened. He was always so hateful towards my mummy. That's what I used to call her. Now she's long gone and I'll never see her again. One night, after kissing me goodnight, she left me to sleep in the plush bed. the room only lighted by a small orange lamp in the corner of the large room. Suddenly, out of the silence, I heard a scream.
'Oh no, not this again' I thought with a heavy sigh.
He was hitting her again.
I wanted so badly to be big and strong enough to run in there and stop him. But I wasn't and I knew if I tried then he'd knock me out with one small punch and he wouldn't stop until I- ...well.
So I laid there. Listening. It got so unbearable I couldn't take it any more. I cried so hard every time this happened. Every night I slept on a soggy pillow; wet right through from my salty tears. After it was over, my mum would slowly come into my room to check on me. I didn't want to let her know i heard all of this, so I laid still. I faced away from the door as force of habit when she trod on the creaky floorboard just down the hall so she wouldn't see my blink or twitch or anything. It also meant I could keep my eyes open. I usually stayed like that for a few hours, weeping furiously. Some times my father came in to 'check' on me during the night as well. I don't really want to remember that so much... he was so forceful. I used to wake up so bruised...
Every now and again, after hitting my mother, he would come to prove his authority. Dragging her by her beautiful golden brown hair down the carpeted sickening-green hall, he would throw her into my room and tell her to do things to him in front of me. I hated this more than him coming in at night, because at least my mum wasn't there to shed more tears.
As I grew older, walking into the average sized house which was slightly askew from all the others on the road, passing the sight of my father naked and on top of my poor mother was average for me. I just walked right past it. I could always see the tears fall from her face. It was rape and I knew it. But i'd grown accustomed to it as if it was a fact. As though it couldn't be changed. It was also the fact that I never had a proper childhood. Having to fend for myself all those years made me an adult before my time. I never noticed myself forming into a young adult. One day all of that was over. In the blink of an eye.
Standing in church I couldn't believe it. Bad smelling flowers were arranged all around me nearly setting off my asthma. It was dragging a little, so I found a seat over to the side and leant back very uncomfortably with my hands in my pockets. I'd also [very discreetly] stuck my earphones in playing my favourite playlist. Fall out boy, if you must know. I sighed. Apparently loudly enough for a short fat woman in a hideous purple ensemble to turn around and give me a look. I hate old people. All so a sudden, the music started and I leapt back up to the alter.
I haven't been here in so long. Not since I was only little and my mother would bring me here, mostly just to get away from what was at home. She used to drag me out of bed at ungodly hours just so we could sit in the silence and hold each other while she sobbed silent tears. I never minded. I was just glad she was away from that hell hole. Every time she went to wipe her eyes, her rough coat sleeve would rub my face since she was clutching me so close. So close to her warm, protective chest that I could hear her heartbeat even through everything she was wearing. I didn't mind though. As long as she had me and I had her, I had a sure idea that it would turn out ok. My attention would be staring at her latest bruise, scar, tear in the skin, burn, or missing tooth. Father, as I called him although he was no such thing to me, was the reason for this. It's always so much worse when someone you have faith in hurts you. Your whole world snaps into a million pieces, you feel like every person in the world know's what they're doing and you have no clue. It feels as though someone's dropped you... which I suppose is a very good analogy for what happened. He was always so hateful towards my mummy. That's what I used to call her. Now she's long gone and I'll never see her again. One night, after kissing me goodnight, she left me to sleep in the plush bed. the room only lighted by a small orange lamp in the corner of the large room. Suddenly, out of the silence, I heard a scream.
'Oh no, not this again' I thought with a heavy sigh.
He was hitting her again.
I wanted so badly to be big and strong enough to run in there and stop him. But I wasn't and I knew if I tried then he'd knock me out with one small punch and he wouldn't stop until I- ...well.
So I laid there. Listening. It got so unbearable I couldn't take it any more. I cried so hard every time this happened. Every night I slept on a soggy pillow; wet right through from my salty tears. After it was over, my mum would slowly come into my room to check on me. I didn't want to let her know i heard all of this, so I laid still. I faced away from the door as force of habit when she trod on the creaky floorboard just down the hall so she wouldn't see my blink or twitch or anything. It also meant I could keep my eyes open. I usually stayed like that for a few hours, weeping furiously. Some times my father came in to 'check' on me during the night as well. I don't really want to remember that so much... he was so forceful. I used to wake up so bruised...
Every now and again, after hitting my mother, he would come to prove his authority. Dragging her by her beautiful golden brown hair down the carpeted sickening-green hall, he would throw her into my room and tell her to do things to him in front of me. I hated this more than him coming in at night, because at least my mum wasn't there to shed more tears.
As I grew older, walking into the average sized house which was slightly askew from all the others on the road, passing the sight of my father naked and on top of my poor mother was average for me. I just walked right past it. I could always see the tears fall from her face. It was rape and I knew it. But i'd grown accustomed to it as if it was a fact. As though it couldn't be changed. It was also the fact that I never had a proper childhood. Having to fend for myself all those years made me an adult before my time. I never noticed myself forming into a young adult. One day all of that was over. In the blink of an eye.
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