Struggles

Change

Josephine's P.O.V

"Josephine! Josephine! Come on wake up honey."

I woke up startled and confused. I was sure it was early Saturday, maybe I was wrong. After all I always was.

"What? Where are we going? Why are all my stuff packed? Mom what's going on?"

I looked around my room. If you were to walk in you wouldn't notice anything strange. It was a typical teenager's room. The usual. Teddy bears here and there, band posters, radio,television, pictures, books and notebooks.

I however noticed stuff were missing. After all it was my room, I spent half of my life locked in here. By half my life I really mean it. My room was my place. You know how everyone has their place? It's cliche but it's true.

I noticed the more important stuff at first. My camera was gone. My favorite stuffed animal. My trophies. Graduation pictures. My journal. Then I got up.

"Mom. Where are all my stuff? Are we doing this again, you know were you and dad get in a fight and then we leave. You pack all my stuff. I transfer schools for a month and then you're stupid enough to come back. Is this what's happening again?"

"Josephine. Listen to me. This time it's different this time-"

"No. It's the same thing."

If I didn't know my mom any better I might have believed her for a second. She always said the same thing. Ever since I was 6 we've been running away from one of the people who you're supposed to love, my dad. Everything was a cycle. I got used to it. Boring,long and repetitive. I always had to leave with my mom because God forbid I stay with my monstrous dad who might hurt me. I hated it. I hated having to choose sides but not really being able to choose.

My mom and dad never had a good relationship the only reason why they were together was because my dad had baked a cake in my mother's oven. Don't get me wrong. My dad wasn't a saint but he wasn't the devil either. As I grew I decided that even though my father put his hands on my mother it was her who was dumb because she always came back. Always.

"Jospehine!"

It was the first time I had heard my mother raise her voice.

"We're leaving. Now. And I can assure you that we're never coming back to this place. Ever."

I was ready to leave. I had been since I was about ten and realized my father didn't mean anything to me. Thanks for the sperm dad. Really appreciate it. Other than that he was useless, a lost cause. I had an abusive, alcoholic father. It was great.

I picked up my luggage and headed out the door. I saw blood stains on the door handle. I wiped my eye maybe it had been my mind playing tricks on me.

"Mom... Turn around"

"I'm sorry J. I promise. I promise it won't happen again."

My mother was crying. In front of me. I couldn't believe it. My father had laid hands on her before, it wasn't a shocker. But it had never gone too far. She had never had so much blood coming out of her nose or mouth or head.