Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Push- Chapter 4 up
I blink back tears as I stare at my house. I know what’ll happen inside.
I’d hoped the house would be empty when I got there. That he’d be gone, out with stupid drunks like him. But he’s here. And I know what’s coming.
“Not one sound.” I whisper to myself. “Not one fucking sound.”
I walk as softly as I can, opening the door, but not taking off my shoes, in case he’s so bad I run. I close the door, wincing when it creaks. Damn it.
“Home, bitch?” Slurred words come from the front room with the t.v and the couch he almost never leaves.
“I’da thought you’d gonna be home earlier. You are late, bitch!” He smiles at me, and I hate him. He pushes himself up off the couch.
Don’t put down the bottle, don’t put down the bottle, don’t put down the bottle.
He sways a little bit, and puts his bottle down on the table.
Fuck.
He takes large, wobbly steps, like a giant infant, just learning to walk. But I know his aim will be right on.
He comes right to me, and pushes me roughly onto the floor. I fall to the ground, landing on my arm. I angle my shoulders protectively, but it doesn’t help. His foot makes contact with my chest, and I grit my teeth.
“When I say home at three, I mean home at three goddamnit!” He punctuates each word with a kick. I hold my breath.
“Don’t you dare disobey me again! You hear that bitch?” His foot, which had been on the top of my chest, comes off. He grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me up off the ground.
“This’ll teach you!” He swings his fist into my cheek. My neck snaps back with a crack.
He drops me onto the floor. He’s done.
I breathe evenly, though every breath hurts like hell. I wipe the blood from my cheek, where he cut me with the ring he always wears. My hand is trembling, and I try to steel myself, at least long enough to get to the basement. I stumble my way down the stairs, to my room. As far away as I can get.
I crawl onto my bed, touching my ribs gently. I gasp, and cough, watching the little splatters of red darken the black comforter. Curling up into a ball, I rock back and forth. I’ve learned to deal with this. There’s never been anyone to help me, anyone to protect me. There’s just been me and him. Our own world. Because the outside one has never cared.
I think of how I left Frankie, and why. Why did I leave him?
Because he was getting too close.
Yes, I have trust issues. Because no one’s ever cared. I can’t help but think anyone who seems like they might is just a liar. Why should they? Who would want to talk to the proud, defensive girl? Who would care about me?
Yes, I’m angry. Because I get hit. Because no one does care. Because I’m alone.
Frankie comes into my mind again. I try to push him away. He probably just wants in your pants, I tell myself. But I don’t believe it.
There’s something honest in his direct, yet cryptic questions, his probing stare. Those hazel eyes that seem clear, but miles deep, and fuzzy at the end, like there’s always something else there. Something thoughtful, intense behind the unwavering confidence.
I want to laugh at myself, for my ridiculous ideas. I just met him. I don’t know him. But I’d like to. And that person who drew those shoes. Anyone who can draw like that… I’m a bit of an artist myself, but I can’t do anything incredible. In general, I can’t do anything incredible.
I’m nothing special.
But Frankie is.
I curl up into a ball, holding onto his face in my mind.
Why do I always fall so hard?
Give me reviews people! It makes me more likely to write. And some ratings wouldn't kill you either........
xoxo Evangeline
I’d hoped the house would be empty when I got there. That he’d be gone, out with stupid drunks like him. But he’s here. And I know what’s coming.
“Not one sound.” I whisper to myself. “Not one fucking sound.”
I walk as softly as I can, opening the door, but not taking off my shoes, in case he’s so bad I run. I close the door, wincing when it creaks. Damn it.
“Home, bitch?” Slurred words come from the front room with the t.v and the couch he almost never leaves.
“I’da thought you’d gonna be home earlier. You are late, bitch!” He smiles at me, and I hate him. He pushes himself up off the couch.
Don’t put down the bottle, don’t put down the bottle, don’t put down the bottle.
He sways a little bit, and puts his bottle down on the table.
Fuck.
He takes large, wobbly steps, like a giant infant, just learning to walk. But I know his aim will be right on.
He comes right to me, and pushes me roughly onto the floor. I fall to the ground, landing on my arm. I angle my shoulders protectively, but it doesn’t help. His foot makes contact with my chest, and I grit my teeth.
“When I say home at three, I mean home at three goddamnit!” He punctuates each word with a kick. I hold my breath.
“Don’t you dare disobey me again! You hear that bitch?” His foot, which had been on the top of my chest, comes off. He grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me up off the ground.
“This’ll teach you!” He swings his fist into my cheek. My neck snaps back with a crack.
He drops me onto the floor. He’s done.
I breathe evenly, though every breath hurts like hell. I wipe the blood from my cheek, where he cut me with the ring he always wears. My hand is trembling, and I try to steel myself, at least long enough to get to the basement. I stumble my way down the stairs, to my room. As far away as I can get.
I crawl onto my bed, touching my ribs gently. I gasp, and cough, watching the little splatters of red darken the black comforter. Curling up into a ball, I rock back and forth. I’ve learned to deal with this. There’s never been anyone to help me, anyone to protect me. There’s just been me and him. Our own world. Because the outside one has never cared.
I think of how I left Frankie, and why. Why did I leave him?
Because he was getting too close.
Yes, I have trust issues. Because no one’s ever cared. I can’t help but think anyone who seems like they might is just a liar. Why should they? Who would want to talk to the proud, defensive girl? Who would care about me?
Yes, I’m angry. Because I get hit. Because no one does care. Because I’m alone.
Frankie comes into my mind again. I try to push him away. He probably just wants in your pants, I tell myself. But I don’t believe it.
There’s something honest in his direct, yet cryptic questions, his probing stare. Those hazel eyes that seem clear, but miles deep, and fuzzy at the end, like there’s always something else there. Something thoughtful, intense behind the unwavering confidence.
I want to laugh at myself, for my ridiculous ideas. I just met him. I don’t know him. But I’d like to. And that person who drew those shoes. Anyone who can draw like that… I’m a bit of an artist myself, but I can’t do anything incredible. In general, I can’t do anything incredible.
I’m nothing special.
But Frankie is.
I curl up into a ball, holding onto his face in my mind.
Why do I always fall so hard?
Give me reviews people! It makes me more likely to write. And some ratings wouldn't kill you either........
xoxo Evangeline
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