Dad slammed me into the wall again, and again, and again, until I stopped screaming, catching my breath. Honestly, how does nobody notice?
Dad then slammed me into the ground, and I heard something snap; that can't be good. My vision blurred and I screamed out in pain. My father clamped my mouth shut.
"Shut up or I'll hurt you more," He said.
I stopped screaming, but he started punching me. Such a liar. Screaming was my best bet for help, but nobody would help me. I couldn't move and dad just kept on beating me. I don't know how long this torture lasted, but eventually mom decided to get off of her butt and help me. I have awesome parents. I love my sarcasm.
Mom yanked dad off of me and pulled me to the kitchen, where she cleaned my cuts and gave me a few ice packs. She pulled up my sleeves to reveal the fresh cuts, and started yelling at me. I eventually left, not even listening to her.
"I'm leaving, once and for all," I whisper angrily, grabbing my suitcase and backpack. I packed a lot of clothes, some toothpaste and my toothbrush, some hair accessories, a hairbrush, my makeup, and my tampons. Ugh. I look at the picture on my bedside of my mother and I, when we were on good terms. I admire it for a few seconds, and then give in to my anger.
"I HATE YOU!" I scream at the top of my lungs, picking up the picture frame and throwing it across the room. I hear it crack and blink fast to stop the tears from falling. I grab some posters on my walls of "The Pack" and grab my wallet. I head downstairs.
"Where are you going?" My mother asks.
"I'm leaving, so thank god you won't have to see me anymore."
And then I left this hell forever, walking out the door and slamming it shut, to start a new life.