Anonymous

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

For a long time I sit on the ground outside of my mother’s room and don’t move. I don’t think either. My mind completely blank, I just sit in the peacefulness. Occasionally I hear my mother’s voice as she mumbles to herself in her chair. I notice some of the blood on my knee has started to drip to the floor.   There are only a few little droplets of blood on the wood floor, but I figure the cuts should be washed, to avoid infection. 

I stand up, stiff from being on the ground so long without moving, and walk to the area at the top of the stairs. I look down the stairs a moment and just stand there to think. My mind is a little scrambled from all that has happened today, so I lose track of myself and forget why I’m standing by the stairs. Then I remember when I see a drop of blood fall from my ear to the ground, splattering in a small little burst of red liquid. 

I walk down the stairs, getting rid of the ache feeling in my bones, and when I reach the bottom, I turn to the left, going into the kitchen. Our house may be two stories but it’s definitely small. When you walk in the front door, there are two sides of the house, separated by a wall, and in that wall are the stairs that lead to the second floor. So the stairs are the first thing you see when you walk in, with the other parts of the house on either side. If you turn to the left of the house, you will enter the living room, a small, dirty, simple little area that isn’t used for anything very often. Behind the couch on the back wall of the living room is a bathroom, and there’s nothing else in there except some chairs and tables. To the right is the kitchen, where I am now.

I put my hands on the counter, and jump, hoisting myself up to sit on the counter top. I swing my leg over into the sink and turn on the faucet. At first the water’s steaming hot, and I suck in a huge amount of air between my teeth, and wince. I yank my leg from under the faucet and prop it back up on the counter top. I turn the faucet handle until I feel the water is at a comfortable temperature, and stick my leg back under. The cool water feels good on the cut, but the pressure of the faucet stings a bit. I put my hands under the falling water too, and wash the dirt off. When my hands re relatively clean, I use them to scrub the dry crusted blood off of my leg. It hurts a little, and I wince every time a piece of the scab rips off my raw skin underneath. My cheek is more bloody than I thought, and I actually have to put my cheek under the faucet and wash the blood off. Once the dried blood is gone from my cheek, I put pressure on it with a towel.

I don’t bother to do anything with my ear once I touch it and see only a little blood on my finger in return. I keep one hand on my face to keep the towel on my cheek. I feel emotionally and physically exhausted so I walk over to the couch and flop over the armrest. I don’t move myself to get in a comfortable position. I don’t even have time to before I drift off to sleep.

Something pats my face and forces me to awaken. My vision is blurry for a second, my mind scrambled. But as things come into focus I realize I’m on a couch, and there’s a blood covered towel stuck to my face. I use my arm to lift myself and swing my legs over to hang off the side of the couch. I see my sister Emma standing next to me.

Emma is a tall, physically fit girl. She’s got a round face, bright green eyes, and straight. red hair. No one in the family has read hair other than my father. She reminds me too much of him.

“Don’t pat my face again,” I tell her. “It hurts.” I rub my head

“What happened to you?” She asks in an extremely shocked voice.

“Long story.” It’s not really a long story, all I had to do was tell her I got attacked, but honestly, I don’t have the energy to explain.

“Well, I have a long time,” She says. “Explain please.” This is a demand.