This is my first story ever. So pleeeease tell me what you think, good or bad. Also, please vote, comment, and fan if you like my story. All feedback would be appreciated.
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When I was younger I thought my life was amazing. I had a lot of friends, and I truely was happy. I believed I had the perfect family, but soon I would find out how wrong I was.
My best friend lived across the street, and we would spend countless hours together messing around, and getting into trouble, well as much trouble as you can get in when you're in elementary school. His name was Adam Richards. He was the little boy every girl in your grade had a crush on with his light brown hair, white blue eyes, and a smile even teachers couldn't refuse.
We talked about anything and everything. From his parents working too much, and him giving the nanny a hard time just so he can see her face turn red and have her mutter cuss words in Spanish, which I've had the pleasure of witnessing a couple of times, and was pretty damn funny. To how I noticed my mother and father fighting a lot more than usual. I'm mean yeah, they would fight some times, but never this much, or this bad. I never noticed how bad it was until I was in middle school. And as they say; ignorance is bliss.
What I didn't share with Adam was the marks on my moms face she covered up with foundation every morning before work. I never told him about how I heard my father calling my mother names I knew were bad but never fully understood. I never told him how I heard my mother crying late at night in the living room while she thought everyone was asleep. I should have told him, maybe we could have done something like confront my mom, or told another parent. Just something.... anything.
Over the next couple of years things were going great at school. I learned how to block out my home life, and pretend to everyone at school everything was fine, even Adam. Though he was suspicious, he never questioned me. But at home everything just got worse and worse. Nobody talked to each other and me being an only child, I was by myself 90 percent of the time. My mother quit her job, and my father was never home, but when he was they were fighting. At first the fights were long and seemed to go on forever. My father would reach his boiling point, slap my mom, and then leave.
Now.... I wish that was all that happened.
Over the next couple of years their fighting just got worse. When they fought, it would be over the smallest things, and once my father got mad he didn't even bother to control it anymore. He would yell for about a minute or so then start to use my mothers body as a punching bag. He only acknowledged me once after he had a fight with my mom. He looked me dead in the eyes and said,"This is all your goddamn fault!", and he walked out the front door and left.
It was the last day of my seventh grade year. I was thirteen and I was never at my house. I would always try to avoid going over there at all cost. I never talked to my dad anyways, and my mom was so out of it from taking too many prescription pills, she barely remembered to give me lunch money, and that was if she was even awake and functioning by the time I left for school. I had just finished swimming at a friends house, and Adam and I were walking home. We parted ways, and I entered my house.