Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Disenchanted
“Where were you, Emily?” steamed Mum, furiously.
“What? I told you last night, I was going to-“
“Jessica’s? You told me you were going to Jessica's house for the day. Not only are you late home, but I called her house earlier today and apparently, you two, and Teresa are in a fight.” She bellowed.
“But Mum, she-“
“I DON’T CARE WHAT SHE DID, YOU LIED TO ME! WHERE WERE YOU?” Screamed my mother. I couldn’t speak, there were no words I could say without getting into even more shit, so I just stood there looking dumbfounded. She turned around and picked up the nearest object to her, which happened to be a glass vase, and threw it at me as hard as she could. I tried to flinch away, but my reflexes weren’t working, and the vase hit me square in the upper arm.
I screamed in pain as the vase fell to the floor, spilling water and shattering into hundreds of little pieces. I had to get away I thought. I bolted towards my room without thinking, as Mum followed me as fast as she could.
When I got to my room, I slammed the door shut, jammed a stopper under it and sat against the door in the fetal position, in case Mum was too strong for the stopper. Tears were just beginning to leak from my eyes.
She started banging and kicking the door, I don’t know whether it was to try and open it or just out of anger, but I could hear the door starting to break. I put my hands over my ears in an attempt to stop the sound of the door beginning to give way, and my mother on the other side.
After a few minutes, the attempts at breaking the door became feeble and slower, and after another minute, it stopped altogether. Instead, I could hear Mum retreating down the stairs and into the kitchen, swearing loudly. I cautiously got up and walked across the room, pacing back and forth. I didn’t even know what to do; she had never been this bad before.
I took a deep breath, and decided I was going to run. Run away from everything here and just run, until everything was better.
I quietly opened my door, removing the stopper, and carefully walked down the stairs, trying not to make a noise. Slowly, I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.
There she was, sitting on a stool in the middle of the kitchen with an evil look in her eye. She was fucking with my mind, I knew it. Suddenly, she lurched forwards off her stool, towards me. I bolted, hands stretched towards the front door, when I remembered the mixture of glass and water beneath me, a little too late. I slipped, landing on my back with full force. I scrambled to get up, putting my hands to the floor, forgetting the mess around me. I could feel the glass in my hands and up my arms as I rolled over, trying to stand up, but failing. I started to feel nauseous, and things were starting to get blurry. That horrid woman that I call my mother was sitting back on the stool again, watching as I lay, a broken bloody mess on the kitchen floor. She hopped up, and walked over to me with a grin on her face.
“This mess better be fucking cleaned up in the morning.” She spat, as she walked over me, and towards her room on the other side of the house.
I started to lose consciousness and my eyes became heavy. I fought everything I had left in me to keep them open, but after a good minute I surrendered into the darkness.
~~~
“Fuck, ouch!” I murmered, rolling over. The water had dried, and all there was left on the floor was broken glass and myself; battered, bruised and bloody. The once blue skies had darkened, and the only source of light was coming from the clock on the microwave. It was 10.17pm. I got up as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast at all, and headed straight for the front door. My arm was killing me, and I could still feel glass in my hands and knees. I opened the door, and ran, limping, away from the house. I didn’t know where I was going; all I knew was I needed to get away from that house, and that woman.
After a minute or two, I pulled out my phone from my pocket and began to scroll through my contacts, looking for a place to go or someone to call. After a moment, I realised that there was nowhere to go, except for Mikey’s place. I dialled his number and waited.
“Hello?” he answered.
I didn’t know what to say. I was tempted to hang up and text him in the morning, telling him that I had accidentally called him in my sleep, and that I was sorry. No, I couldn’t.
“Uh, hey. “ I broke the scilence.
“Emily? … Hey, is something wrong?” he asked.
“I, um. Can I come over? I sort of have nowhere to stay tonight.” I could hear the echo of my voice in my phone, I sounded all horrible and croaky.
“Yeah, of course! I’ll be waiting outside, okay?” he said, sounding worried.
“Thank you, so much. I’ll be over in a minute.”
“No worries, I’ll see you then.”
“Bye.” I hung up, walking faster now, as I now had a direction to go.
After a minute or so, I reached the gate to Mikey’s house. I could see him, sitting on the steps outside his house, just as he had said he would.
“Emily?” he called out, after I realised I had stopped walking, and was just standing there at his gate. I opened it, and walked along the narrow path leading to his house. When I was close enough for him to see the blood on my hands, he stood up; his face a mask of horror.
“W-what happened to you?” he asked. I didn’t even know how to answer him. My words were suddenly caught up in my throat, tangled and shy. He walked over to me and wiped away my tears; apparently I had been crying.
“What happened to your hands?” he spoke again, holding my hands in his, carefully examining them.
“Glass.” Was all I could manage to say. He pulled my in for a careful hug, trying not to hurt me any more than I already had been, as my tears began to fall heavier than they had been before.
“Come inside,” He said after he had pulled away, “its cold out here and your clothes are wet. Plus we need to get your hands cleaned up.” I looked down, and as he had said, my clothes were wet. Probably from the water in the vase.
I followed him inside. It was warm, just like it was earlier today.
“Mum!” he yelled out, and after a moment, his mother appeared from around the doorway. As soon as she saw the two of us, she stopped in her tracks.
“Oh sweetie, what happened to you?” she said, rushing over to me, inspecting my cuts and bruises with a frown on her face.
“Um, I uh,” I stuttered. “My mum.” I spat out. They both looked at me, their faces full of shock.
“But why?” asked Mikey, stunned.
“I… I’d rather not talk about it right now.” I whispered.
I saw another face peek from around the same doorway that Mikey’s mother had come from; this must have been Mikey’s brother.
“Honey, come into the bathroom, we’ll get you cleaned up, okay?” cooed Mikey’s mum, leading me down the hallway I had walked down earlier today, and into a small cream coloured bathroom. She turned all the lights on, and gestured for me to sit on a small stool, as she took her seat on the edge of a large bathtub.
“Don’t you worry about anything, dearie. I used to be a nurse back in the day.” She explained.
“Back in the day? You don’t look that old…” I said, watching as she picked up a pair of tweezers and began picking out the tiny individual pieces of glass from my left hand. I couldn’t really feel the sting of the glass anymore, as my hand had become numb, although watching her do this still made me queasy.
“Well, it was a few years ago now. But don’t worry, I won’t mutate your arms or anything.” She smiled, gradually working up my wrist and arm, picking out more and more little pieces of staggered glass and placing them on a tissue.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, “I trust you.”
I looked over, realising that Mikey was standing at the door awkwardly watching the two of us. He shot me a hopeful smile, and looked down. I looked back to my hand, which Mikey’s mother was now wiping over with antibacterial, when I caught a glance of myself in a small mirror on the wall.
I looked an utter mess. My hair was tangled, my mascara had run, along with my tears, down my face and smudged into streaks and I had a purple coloured bruise on the side of my face. It took me a moment, but I pulled my eyes away from the harsh reality staring back at me, and closed my eyes.
After my hands had been all cleaned up, I took the opportunity to have a shower. Mikey gave me a pair of his sweatpants and an old track shirt (from when he used to do athletics at his old school, he said) for me to get dressed in and wear as pyjamas for the night. I tried to shower as quickly as possible, but my hands were beginning to regain feeling.
I fumbled around for my clothes, trying to dry and dress myself as quick as possible. After a few minutes, and a failed attempt in brushing out my freshly washed hair, I returned into Mikey’s bedroom.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yeah, a little. My hands are hurting worse, though.” I said, holding up my arms in explination.
“Let’s go and get them bandaged up by mum, then.” He smiled, trying to hide the concern in his face.
~~~
After my hands had been all bandaged up, I could hardly do anything with them, so I decided that I would just go to bed – it was almost midnight anyway, and I was getting tired.
I shuffled into the warm bed after Mikey had offered for me to sleep in his, and then he cuddled in too. I felt his soft hands wrap around my middle, as I suddenly felt self-conscious of my breathing patterns.
“Sweet dreams.” He whispered into my ear, his voice soft and comforting.
“You too,” I replied, “Goodnight Mikey.”
Maybe tonight wasn’t such a bad thing, I thought.
“What? I told you last night, I was going to-“
“Jessica’s? You told me you were going to Jessica's house for the day. Not only are you late home, but I called her house earlier today and apparently, you two, and Teresa are in a fight.” She bellowed.
“But Mum, she-“
“I DON’T CARE WHAT SHE DID, YOU LIED TO ME! WHERE WERE YOU?” Screamed my mother. I couldn’t speak, there were no words I could say without getting into even more shit, so I just stood there looking dumbfounded. She turned around and picked up the nearest object to her, which happened to be a glass vase, and threw it at me as hard as she could. I tried to flinch away, but my reflexes weren’t working, and the vase hit me square in the upper arm.
I screamed in pain as the vase fell to the floor, spilling water and shattering into hundreds of little pieces. I had to get away I thought. I bolted towards my room without thinking, as Mum followed me as fast as she could.
When I got to my room, I slammed the door shut, jammed a stopper under it and sat against the door in the fetal position, in case Mum was too strong for the stopper. Tears were just beginning to leak from my eyes.
She started banging and kicking the door, I don’t know whether it was to try and open it or just out of anger, but I could hear the door starting to break. I put my hands over my ears in an attempt to stop the sound of the door beginning to give way, and my mother on the other side.
After a few minutes, the attempts at breaking the door became feeble and slower, and after another minute, it stopped altogether. Instead, I could hear Mum retreating down the stairs and into the kitchen, swearing loudly. I cautiously got up and walked across the room, pacing back and forth. I didn’t even know what to do; she had never been this bad before.
I took a deep breath, and decided I was going to run. Run away from everything here and just run, until everything was better.
I quietly opened my door, removing the stopper, and carefully walked down the stairs, trying not to make a noise. Slowly, I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.
There she was, sitting on a stool in the middle of the kitchen with an evil look in her eye. She was fucking with my mind, I knew it. Suddenly, she lurched forwards off her stool, towards me. I bolted, hands stretched towards the front door, when I remembered the mixture of glass and water beneath me, a little too late. I slipped, landing on my back with full force. I scrambled to get up, putting my hands to the floor, forgetting the mess around me. I could feel the glass in my hands and up my arms as I rolled over, trying to stand up, but failing. I started to feel nauseous, and things were starting to get blurry. That horrid woman that I call my mother was sitting back on the stool again, watching as I lay, a broken bloody mess on the kitchen floor. She hopped up, and walked over to me with a grin on her face.
“This mess better be fucking cleaned up in the morning.” She spat, as she walked over me, and towards her room on the other side of the house.
I started to lose consciousness and my eyes became heavy. I fought everything I had left in me to keep them open, but after a good minute I surrendered into the darkness.
~~~
“Fuck, ouch!” I murmered, rolling over. The water had dried, and all there was left on the floor was broken glass and myself; battered, bruised and bloody. The once blue skies had darkened, and the only source of light was coming from the clock on the microwave. It was 10.17pm. I got up as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast at all, and headed straight for the front door. My arm was killing me, and I could still feel glass in my hands and knees. I opened the door, and ran, limping, away from the house. I didn’t know where I was going; all I knew was I needed to get away from that house, and that woman.
After a minute or two, I pulled out my phone from my pocket and began to scroll through my contacts, looking for a place to go or someone to call. After a moment, I realised that there was nowhere to go, except for Mikey’s place. I dialled his number and waited.
“Hello?” he answered.
I didn’t know what to say. I was tempted to hang up and text him in the morning, telling him that I had accidentally called him in my sleep, and that I was sorry. No, I couldn’t.
“Uh, hey. “ I broke the scilence.
“Emily? … Hey, is something wrong?” he asked.
“I, um. Can I come over? I sort of have nowhere to stay tonight.” I could hear the echo of my voice in my phone, I sounded all horrible and croaky.
“Yeah, of course! I’ll be waiting outside, okay?” he said, sounding worried.
“Thank you, so much. I’ll be over in a minute.”
“No worries, I’ll see you then.”
“Bye.” I hung up, walking faster now, as I now had a direction to go.
After a minute or so, I reached the gate to Mikey’s house. I could see him, sitting on the steps outside his house, just as he had said he would.
“Emily?” he called out, after I realised I had stopped walking, and was just standing there at his gate. I opened it, and walked along the narrow path leading to his house. When I was close enough for him to see the blood on my hands, he stood up; his face a mask of horror.
“W-what happened to you?” he asked. I didn’t even know how to answer him. My words were suddenly caught up in my throat, tangled and shy. He walked over to me and wiped away my tears; apparently I had been crying.
“What happened to your hands?” he spoke again, holding my hands in his, carefully examining them.
“Glass.” Was all I could manage to say. He pulled my in for a careful hug, trying not to hurt me any more than I already had been, as my tears began to fall heavier than they had been before.
“Come inside,” He said after he had pulled away, “its cold out here and your clothes are wet. Plus we need to get your hands cleaned up.” I looked down, and as he had said, my clothes were wet. Probably from the water in the vase.
I followed him inside. It was warm, just like it was earlier today.
“Mum!” he yelled out, and after a moment, his mother appeared from around the doorway. As soon as she saw the two of us, she stopped in her tracks.
“Oh sweetie, what happened to you?” she said, rushing over to me, inspecting my cuts and bruises with a frown on her face.
“Um, I uh,” I stuttered. “My mum.” I spat out. They both looked at me, their faces full of shock.
“But why?” asked Mikey, stunned.
“I… I’d rather not talk about it right now.” I whispered.
I saw another face peek from around the same doorway that Mikey’s mother had come from; this must have been Mikey’s brother.
“Honey, come into the bathroom, we’ll get you cleaned up, okay?” cooed Mikey’s mum, leading me down the hallway I had walked down earlier today, and into a small cream coloured bathroom. She turned all the lights on, and gestured for me to sit on a small stool, as she took her seat on the edge of a large bathtub.
“Don’t you worry about anything, dearie. I used to be a nurse back in the day.” She explained.
“Back in the day? You don’t look that old…” I said, watching as she picked up a pair of tweezers and began picking out the tiny individual pieces of glass from my left hand. I couldn’t really feel the sting of the glass anymore, as my hand had become numb, although watching her do this still made me queasy.
“Well, it was a few years ago now. But don’t worry, I won’t mutate your arms or anything.” She smiled, gradually working up my wrist and arm, picking out more and more little pieces of staggered glass and placing them on a tissue.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, “I trust you.”
I looked over, realising that Mikey was standing at the door awkwardly watching the two of us. He shot me a hopeful smile, and looked down. I looked back to my hand, which Mikey’s mother was now wiping over with antibacterial, when I caught a glance of myself in a small mirror on the wall.
I looked an utter mess. My hair was tangled, my mascara had run, along with my tears, down my face and smudged into streaks and I had a purple coloured bruise on the side of my face. It took me a moment, but I pulled my eyes away from the harsh reality staring back at me, and closed my eyes.
After my hands had been all cleaned up, I took the opportunity to have a shower. Mikey gave me a pair of his sweatpants and an old track shirt (from when he used to do athletics at his old school, he said) for me to get dressed in and wear as pyjamas for the night. I tried to shower as quickly as possible, but my hands were beginning to regain feeling.
I fumbled around for my clothes, trying to dry and dress myself as quick as possible. After a few minutes, and a failed attempt in brushing out my freshly washed hair, I returned into Mikey’s bedroom.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yeah, a little. My hands are hurting worse, though.” I said, holding up my arms in explination.
“Let’s go and get them bandaged up by mum, then.” He smiled, trying to hide the concern in his face.
~~~
After my hands had been all bandaged up, I could hardly do anything with them, so I decided that I would just go to bed – it was almost midnight anyway, and I was getting tired.
I shuffled into the warm bed after Mikey had offered for me to sleep in his, and then he cuddled in too. I felt his soft hands wrap around my middle, as I suddenly felt self-conscious of my breathing patterns.
“Sweet dreams.” He whispered into my ear, his voice soft and comforting.
“You too,” I replied, “Goodnight Mikey.”
Maybe tonight wasn’t such a bad thing, I thought.
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