Caught in a Crossfire

Chapter 6 [[A/N: Trigger warning. Just to let you know.]]

His hand flies across my face, knocking me to the cold, hard ground of the basement. His foot collides with my cheek, and I cough out blood. Mom screams in fear and gets up. For once this is the first time I'm witnessing pure bravery in her personality. This is a first.

“Leave her alone.” she cries out, and spreads her arms out. “She's just a little girl!”

Dad barks out a laugh, and stumbles over to Mom, grabbing a fistful of her hair. “That thing? A little girl?” He repeats. “She's a whore, taking after her mother.” He shoves her to the floor, and Mom grabs his pant leg, burying her face in his knee to keep herself safe. Dad drunkenly kicks her in her back, before pushing her off his leg. He gets on his knees, grabbing her worn shirt and striking her repeatedly across the face.

He's more drunk than before tonight. And more angry. It's my fault she's getting hurt.

“Autumn!” Mom screams. “Get out of here!”

I am stuck to the ground, the pain making me dizzy. I want to stay here. I want to forget feelings. It's just an illusion.

I am not strong to get up. I am broken, a mistake. He said so.

Black swims in my vision as Dad moves away from Mom, stumbling in a drunken stupor before his breath, hot and reeking of alcohol, fans across my face.

“Best you leave, ya hear?” he slurs. “I'm about to have some fun with your mother, if you know what I mean.” Dad grabs a hold of my arm, and drags me up the stairs, my legs and feet getting harmed in the process. “I keep screaming as I am out of the basement, and his grip tightens along my arm.

Like a ragdoll, I am thrown towards a chair, gasping for breath. I blink away the stars that flash across my vision, and watch as Dad drops his belt to the floor. “Go make something out of yourself, you whore. Call one of your boy toys.” With that, he turns and stomps down the stairs, and not too long after, I hear Mom yelling.

I didn't go to school today, because the car was out of gas, and Dad was up. Another first. He usually sleeps half the day so he can get angry with us at night. He forbade me from going to school today, threatening me that I was going to get in serious trouble if I try to escape. I know I may have a phone call from school today about my whereabouts, but all that matters is if I survive one more day here.

From upstairs, I hear my phone ring, loud and obnoxious. I do not want to get up and answer it. But it may be my escape calling. He may have been using me ever since Wednesday, but I was doing the same. I was escaping Spencer's influence—of me coming out and feeling. I struggle to get up, my sight blurring in and out. That blow to the head earlier is throwing off my balance. I manage to walk, and crawl up the stairs, the creaks following in tune with Mom's screams of pain.

Pain is everywhere, getting in every muscle and bone, and I cut my hand on the floor thanks to a piece of glass after I'm done crawling. Phone is still ringing. I press my bloody hands on the doorframe, breathless as I make it to the bed, and pick up my phone.

It's Carlson.

I hit answer, move my hair, and gave out a small “Yes?”