"Fuck you." Love you, too

Monday Night

I walk into the shithole of a place I'm supposed to call "home". Father wasn't home yet. I take my shoes off and walk into the kitchen. I open the fridge and all there is, is beer. Tears fill my eyes for no reason at all.

(Suicide mention)
"God damnit..." I use my sleeve to wipe away the tears. The house reeked of beer. It has ever since she died. I can't help but be selfish and blame her for this. For leaving me here to deal with this on my own. For making this house a shithole. For making me have to fend on myself for food. It's fucking selfish of me, and I know it. I can't help it though. She promised we would stick through it together, tough this shit out, then she ended it all. She knew what she was doing. She did it on my fucking birthday. She was supposed to pick me up from school, we were going to go have ice cream after she picked me up. I never got picked up. They called her, she didn't answer. They called my father; he told them to let me walk home. So, I did. I walked home. You know what I fucking saw when I opened the front door? Her dead body hanging from the fan in the living room. She left me, with him. I hate her for that. I hate her so much. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate him. He reminds me of her.
(End of suicide mention)

I didn't even realize I was crying. I thought that I wouldn't start crying, but I did. I instantly stop crying when I hear a car door slam outside of the house. The door opens and father glances at me, takes his shoes off, and walks into the kitchen to grab a beer. He chugs it. Turns around, and chucks it at my head.

"What the fuck are you staring at?! Go to your fucking room!!" My heart speeds, he barely missed my head. "Quit fucking standing there and go!" He starts walking towards me and I bolt up to my room.

I shut the door as silently as possible and slide to the floor. I put my knees to my chest, and I hug myself. I didn't care anymore, I let the tears fall. I didn't want to be sad, I really didn't. I thought that it wouldn't be that bad, but it's bad every year. Ever since she died, every year it just hurts. Happy birthday to me.