Same Experiences

Prologue

I woke up to the sound of banging on my door. "George! Open the door!" He said. I looked at my alarm clock, midnight. At first, I felt a surge of happiness, but then my stomach pooled with dread. What could Dad want now? I swallowed and opened the door. He stumbled in and I caught him. "It's your birthday, innit?" He asked. I swallowed again and nodded. Jesus, I could smell the wine on his breath from a mile away.

"You're turning ten?" He asked as I sat him down on the bed. "Um, yes," I told him. "You must've got some good amount of money, then." He said expectantly. I felt a surge of anger. On other days, I would've given it to him out of the fear that he'll slap the life out of me, but not today. "No, I haven't got any money," I told him, making sure to keep my features schooled. He looked at me with disbelief and then it turned to pure anger. He got up and I took a step back. He came forward till my back hit the cold wall. I gulped as he knelt in front of me. I stood there, frozen as he put his hand on my knee, sliding it upward slowly.

I looked at the hand, batted it away, and started running toward the door. He grabbed my waist from behind and threw me on the bed. I noticed that I started breathing fast in panic. He climbed up on top of me and covered my mouth when I started to scream.

I jerked up on my bed when I heard the alarm clock blaring. I got a sharp pain in my lower stomach because of the movement. The events of the early morning hit me like a bullet train. How I screamed for two hours, and the pain, God the pain. How I passed out while he was taking the money from my purse. I sat there, frozen and I just felt like yelling the house down. But I breathed and got out of bed. That movement shot an intense pain between my legs, and I fell back down on the bed. I shook my head and got my phone, texting the teacher that I won't be able to go to school today. When my room door opened, I shrank into the bed. He kissed my forehead and headed out. Angry tears sprang out of my eyes. 

For the first time in five years, I cried into my pillow.

Four years later

I got up to see that I'm in my bed. The last thing I remembered was Dad leaning over me in the hallway. 

The memory brought a lump to my throat. But I swallowed it down.

No more. 

I swung my legs around the cot which made them hurt. But I was used to it by now, so it didn't hurt much (I just ignored it).

I took out my suitcase and opened my cupboard. I looked at the suitcase and the cupboard. There was enough space. I didn't even fold all the clothes, just took them all off the hangers and threw them into the suitcase. After the cupboard was empty, I closed it with a soft click. Then I got my black duffel bag out and kept my storybooks in it. There were fifteen of them. It's less, I know but it's enough for the meantime. Then, I kept the photo of my Mom and me smiling in front of the beach carnival which happens once a year. I blinked back tears, thinking how I'll be missing it.

But would she want you to go through this? Martha, a supportive, fictional character in my head said. 

No, she wouldn't. Betty, a rebellious girl, said. Death is better than this.

Since the beginning, I've loved reading books. When I really liked a character I gave voices to them and, well, for the past three years, I've treated them like family. Martha was like Mom, Betty was like a sister, and Jacob, Jackson, and Fredrick were like big brothers. 

I nodded, agreeing with Betty. I kept some of the things which I brought from the fair(plus the picture). I took out some money from the secret compartment I made in the bedside drawer and after counting them, kept it in my wallet. I took my mother's credit card, which Dad doesn't know about (it's registered on my number). I took out my phone and searched for flights to New York. There was one for 2 o'clock and I looked at the time. Five minutes were left to one, so I booked the ticket. I changed my clothes to a pair of tight brown leather pants, a maroon top (which I tucked into my pants), and a black leather jacket.