The Grave

Part 1

        My father was an alcoholic and my mother was a doctor. Seems like any other story but mine seemed a lot darker. One day I came home from school, walked in the house, my father threw his bottle and started to shout. It was clear he was on something, he was always abusive but I've never seen his eyes as crazy as they were that night.
        "Where you think you going Kelly?" He asked me with the tone of a scary murderer. "Upstairs..." I replied confused and scared. Another bottle flew across the room, shards of the bottle hit my back. "Got a problem with me tell me it to my face! HIC.. I said HIC, tell me... My ... Face HIC"
         Relieved I ran upstairs, making sure my father was asleep, quietly I shouted for my mother. Opening every door in the house looking around for her. When I reached the end of the hall I  noticed the  bathroom door was closed, even more bottles broken on the floor. I've never felt safe in this abusive house, for years I've talked to my mom about leaving. We planned to leave at the end of this week, my bags were already packed but the only thing that was missing was mom.
          That night she didn't come home, I tried opening the bathroom door but it was locked. Assuming that my father had locked the door when he was drunk I didn't bother to unlock it to look.
          After an uneasy sleep  I woke up early grabbed the key and unlocked the bathroom. Blood, blood everywhere, I saw my mother dead in the bathtub broken glass slit her throat... My father slit her throat.