Indigo Skies | A Short Story [COMPLETE]

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There were little orange bottles in the sink again and so many broken brown glasses littering the floor, I could hardly step without hearing the crunch beneath my flip-flops. But that was normal for my house.

It was nearly ten at night but I hadn't been able to go to sleep. Momma had put me to bed with a hug and a kiss almost an hour and a half before, but I had seen the tiredness in her eyes, the exhaustion that was always there when she came home to Daddy.

The kitchen was dark, but the dining room's yellow lights poured in through the doorway in between them. I tiptoed around the scattered trash on the floor, trying to make my way to the fridge without waking up my parents who were most likely in their room around the corner.

But I froze when my mother's hushed but sharp words drifted in from the dining room. "Frank, you can't keep drinking like this. This is your seventh beer tonight."

I heard the sloshing of liquid and tried to peer around the corner without being spotted. Daddy sat at the table while Momma stood next to him, trying to grab at the bottle in his hand. But he had pulled it away to where she couldn't reach it.

He laughed, but it was slurred and squeaky. "Nuh uh uh, no one said you could have it."

My mother's face tightened with irritation. "Frank, stop it." She leaned over him farther, still reaching for the drink.

"No," he snapped, the laughter in his face gone and replaced with frustration. He shoved her away, forcing her to catch her balance against the wall as he took another swig.

Momma blinked to regain her bearings and then took a deep breath. "Please, just lay off for the night."

"I said no!" He stood, slamming his chair against the wall behind him, surely leaving another scuff on the faded tan paint. He turned with violence in his eyes toward my mom.

Her bottom lip trembled as she raised her hands up between them so he couldn't get too close. She had already learned by that point that the best way to prevent a punch was distance.

He advanced on her and she tried to step back slowly. "Please, Frank. Think of Braylin."

"I didn't even want that brat in the first place."

I swallowed. Was that really how he felt about me?

My mother continued to try and negotiate. "Then think of yourself. This isn't healthy. The pills, the drinks. It's all hurting you."

But he heard none of it.

Before I could tell what was happening, he raised the thick glass bottle and bashed it across the side of her head. She cried out, falling to the broken tiled floor.

I shrieked as I saw blood and beer spattered across the floor and my father's hands. I wanted to run to my mom, but I was so confused. Why was Daddy being so mean? What was going on?

I stood there, staring at my mother as blood gushed down her face and she tried to push away the haze from her eyes. But as I did nothing, my dad walked toward me.

He yelled, calling me a name that I didn't understand. "I 'oughta end both of you!"

Trembling, I looked to my mother, but she, too, had terror in her eyes. "No! Please... Frank! Don't... don't hurt her." Her words sounded almost as contorted as Daddy's but I didn't think she had been drinking the same stuff he had.

He kicked her in the side, making her cry out in pain. Then he turned to me.

"Run, Braylin," my mother groaned.