NINE

                                    

                                          
MILES
As Monday night unfolded, I found myself lying on my bed, my body consumed with a mix of exhaustion and residual pain. My gaze was fixated on the faint bruise that adorned my arm, a painful reminder of the events that had transpired the day before.
It had been a typical Monday, with its blend of monotony and mundane routines. I had spent the day at school, navigating the hallways with a sense of anticipation looming in the back of my mind. I was always cautious about the unpredictable moods that awaited me in this house, especially with my father's erratic behavior growing more frequent.
"Another sleepless night," I murmured to myself as my heart was heavy with the sounds of yells and thuds echoing from downstairs. This had become a nightly ritual - my father stumbling home late, drunk and filled with rage, ready to unleash his fury upon my Mom and me. I could feel the anxiety building within me, knowing that at any moment, the violence would erupt.
"Where's that son of a bitch!?" Dad yelled as the clash of glass breaking downstairs tore through the solemn night air, jolting me from my thoughts. Panic ignited within me as I imagined the chaos unfolding downstairs.
I heard my Dad's loud footsteps thundering down every staircase towards my room. Panic engulfed me like a swarm of angry bees as I scrambled to my feet. My heart pounded in my chest, the sound reverberating in my ears, as I realized I had little time to react.
Without hesitation, I sprinted towards the door of my room, adrenaline surging through my veins. My trembling hand reached for the doorknob, my fingers fumbling in their haste. Time seemed to stretch as I fought against the impending danger, hoping to lock myself in for safety.
But just as my fingertips grazed the cold metal, the door burst open with an unstoppable force. I was forcefully pushed backward, stumbling a few steps away from where I had stood, my movements hindered by both surprise and fear. My eyes widened in disbelief as my Dad's towering figure materialized before me, his face a mask of fury.
"What do you think you're doing?" he growled, his voice laced with anger. His eyes bore into mine, demanding an explanation for my desperate attempt to lock him out.
Stuttering, I struggled to find words to justify my actions. Panic gnawed at my throat, making it difficult to speak. Suddenly, unease settled in the pit of my stomach, a familiar tingling of fear that had become all too common. The darkness inside the house was indicative of my father's return.
Without uttering a single word, he pounced upon me, his fists like thunderbolts raining down upon my fragile frame. Each blow was a cruel reminder of the volatile existence I could hardly escape. I curled into myself, trying to shield my body from the relentless assault, my mind seeking refuge in a place far away.
And then, just as abruptly as it had started, it ended. My father retreated into the shadows of the house, leaving me battered and bruised, physically and emotionally. Lying on my bed, I cradled the bruise on my arm, tracing my fingers over the tender flesh. It served as a constant reminder of the lingering pain and the brokenness that had become an integral part of my life.
Yet, as I lie here in the stillness of the night, a seed of defiance begins to sprout within me. With each passing moment, my resolve grows stronger, refusing to succumb to the darkness that threatens to engulf me. I realize that this cycle of abuse cannot define me and that I deserve more than the torment I endure.
As the moonlight streams through my window, casting a gentle glow in my room, I vow to myself that one day, I will break free from the chains that bind me. I will find the strength to escape this suffocating existence, leaving behind the shadows that have plagued my soul.