Why?

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Sasha's POV.

"Stop! P-please!" begs Kayla, her voice hoarse. 

"Shut the fuck up!" I hiss in her ear.

Kayla looked an absolute mess. Her blonde hair was matted into knots, after going weeks without washing, and combing. The bruises on her cheeks that had disappeared a week ago, have slowly returned due to the continous harrasment I was putting her through. She has been getting skinnier, and skinnier, each week due to lack of water and food. After a few more kicks, I hear the front door open. Shit. It had to be my mother, with my grandmother. They had went shopping at the Christmas Tree shop earlier, and have returned with most likely cheese pizza, (which was always very cheesy) along with extremely spicy wings, cripsy, and fresh. 

"I'll be back later" I said, shoving Kayla onto the wall, as she whimpered. 

I ran upstairs, opening the basement door, and locking it behind me.

"Good evening, Sash" coos my mother sweetly, carrying a big box of pizza and a few groceries, along with grandma carrying a large container which was probably the wings.

"Hi!" I squealed at my mother and grandmother, with fake enthusiam. 

Grandma didn't respond, as usual. 

My grandmother lived just up the road, visiting the house about every Friday, with the usual depressed expression. I could understand she was aging, she was nearly 80 years old, but that didn't mean she had to be so... miserable.

"Where's dad?" I asked, walking towards the kitchen sink and washing my hands.

"At a friends..." sighed my mother, her eyes darting to the spotless, kitchen floor.

"Who?" I asked, with curiousity.

"He... didn't say" she muttered, closing her eyes for long seconds, finishing "But, it's not like I care? Why should I care?" 

An obvious, fake laugh burst out of her mouth. 

"Okay..." I said, sitting at the table and helping myself to a slice of pizza, and four wings, along with a dab of blue cheese.

* * * * * * *

The sound of hearing the front door open, forced my tired eyes open, my digital clock reading 1:00 A.M.

Seconds later, I hear quiet footsteps up the staircase, with the door opening from my mother and father's bedroom.

Sprinting out of my bed, I press my ear to the door, listening.

"Why are you so late?" I hear my mom whisper. "Where were you?"

"None of your fucking business" yelled my dad, angrily. 

I jump, at the tone of his voice, and slowly creak my door open, to peek at what was happening. 

My dad was swaying, side to side, as if a palm tree in the wind, with coconuts that were too heavy to be lifted.

My mom's eyes widened, as she asked "Are you drunk?"

"No, of course I'm not, you know I never drink! How could you ask such a stupid question?"

"I'm not asking a stupid question, it is quite obvious your drunk."

"Leave me alone! Fuck!" he screamed, running in the room, and slamming a door behind him.

Soon after that, my mother sobbed, sitting herself in the empty, and dark hallway, her head placed in her palms.

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