Brick Girl [Completed]

Bruised Banana

Tara

"Where the fuck have you been?" Mum bellowed as I closed the front door. Zeke had driven me to Poppy's to get my clothes and then I'd walked home. He had offered to bring me home but I'd refused. I knew what was waiting for me.

Mum thundered down the corridor and grabbed my arm hard. It was late afternoon but she was already drunk. She swayed slightly and stared at me through narrow eyes. Mum was petite with short blonde hair and blue eyes. She was stick thin aside from her stomach which was painfully swollen. She was wearing a thin vest and a skirt. I could see the marks on her arms and legs from all the times she fell over.

"I said, where.the.fuck.have.you.been?"
She slapped the side of my head after every word. I could hear a high pitched ringing in my left ear.

"At Poppy's house,mum. I left a note. Sorry." I stood still, staring at the floor. I knew from years of experience how to get through this quickly.

Head down.
No eye contact.
Always apologise.
And never,ever argue with her.

"Come with me, you little brat," Mum gripped my arm tighter as she dragged me into the sitting room. The room smelled of smoke,alcohol and vomit. I don't like to come in here. Mum caught me cleaning in here once and she hit me so hard I couldn't see out my eye properly for weeks.

This was her domain. She dragged me over to a photo frame on the windowsill.

"Look at it!" She barked.

I looked, it was a picture of a handsome man with a broad grin. He had big grey eyes and curly red hair that stuck out in all directions. He was smiling straight at the camera. I knew every detail by heart. His stubble on his chin. The dimples on his cheeks. He looked happy.

My heart ached. Dad.

"Do you know how disappointed he would be in you? At college studying art? Waste of time! Not making money. One friend. Nothing going for you!" Mum roared in my ear. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall.

A fist to the side of my head made me open my eyes quickly. I stood still. Don't react, Tar. Head down.

Another blow. Another. Another. I tasted blood.

"Why!!" I heard her scream. "Why did he die instead of you?"

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I lay on my bed with a cloth on the side of my face. Mum had staggered out after she managed to knock me to the ground. I had kept still until I heard the front door slam shut and her walking away.

I touched my lips and winced, she had managed to split them open again. I rolled onto my side and tried to ignore the ringing in my ears.

I knew it wasn't her fault that she did this. It was mine.

Dad had been driving me to an art class four years ago when a lorry had hit us on the drivers side. The lorry driver had been drunk and driving over 80 miles an hour. Dad had died almost instantly. Our small car had been no match for the large lorry and it had almost folded our car into two as if it was made of paper. I had broken both my legs and most of my ribs. It had taken the emergency services several hours to get me out. So I had stayed there with my dad, holding his hand as it got colder and colder.

Mum had never been the same. She had loved my dad with all her heart. They had been childhood sweethearts and had spent almost every moment together since they were 10 years old.

Dad would call her 'his jam' and she would call him 'her toast'. I know it sounds silly but it didn't matter to them. I had never seen people more in love.