16

                                    

                                          
༻ ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖'𝕤 ℙ𝕆𝕍: ༺
"Ready for school?"
My mother stood by the door, dark rings around her eyes, bruises scattered across her face and dried tears crusted over her cheeks. My stomach lurched at the sight of her. I knew the injuries on her face paled in comparison to the damage he'd caused to the rest of her body when he found out she'd been leaving the house last week.
We'd just about managed a week without any issues. He was away every weekday, never bothering to return to the house from work in the evenings. Instead, he most likely went straight to the nearest bar and drowned in alcohol before going home with the first available woman. My mother was more than aware of his habit of going home with other women but all she cared about was that it gave us a reprieve from his anger and violence. 
When the weekend came around, he was still nowhere to be seen. We were on edge for the three days, tiptoeing around each other and flinching at every single sound. The anticipation had twisted up my insides and I could barely stomach anything for the few days, knowing soon, he would return home. 
It was Monday evening when he did come back. Matteo had driven me to school as usual and had managed to put me completely at ease during our hour together. He bought me breakfast and for the first time in days I managed to eat without feeling like I was suffocating. Spending time with him had started to become a reprieve from my lonely and empty life.
When I returned home, I managed to get half of my homework done before the front door was thrust open so aggressively, the hinges snapped. His expression was like thunder, a storm erupting in his eyes as he looked at my mom. I threw up in my mouth as he approached her, forced to swallow the vomit back down to avoid drawing attention to myself. He was on a warpath I knew better than to get in the way of. 
As soon as he reached her, it was like glass shattering. He swung for her immediately, spewing curses while my mom pleaded with him to stop. I screamed, my vision blurred, my throat raw, my ears ringing. All I could do was stand in my place and scream at him to stop while he beat her until her skin was marred with bruises and the carpet was stained with her blood. 
I'd gotten lucky that night. His anger wasn't directed at me. Somehow, he knew she'd been leaving the house during the weeks when she knew he wouldn't come home. The small blessing was that he didn't know why, so my mother lied her way out of it and managed to keep her job a secret. The small stack of money she'd saved up was still a secret. 
But now, a camera in the corner of the room monitored our every move. 
I opened my mouth to respond to her but the whirring noise of the camera moving sliced through the silence. I watched the lens pan around to where we stood and tried my best to ignore the tingles that travelled down my spine. He was watching. Always watching. 
I managed a nod in response to my mom and she forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. I didn't want to leave her here, alone, under his careful watch, but staying home would only cause more problems for us.
"Have a good day, sweetie."
I kissed her cheek and stepped past her, making my way to the front door. Since the camera had been installed last week, we'd kept conversation to a minimum, afraid to slip up and say something that would only land us in more trouble. I was careful not to mention Matt picking me up as I knew that wouldn't go down well. 
As soon as the front door shut behind me, I could breathe easier. I made my way downstairs, practically flying down to put some distance between me and the apartment. When I was younger, I loved our home. It wasn't big or fancy, but it was ours. It held all my childhood memories, all my favourite things. It felt like home. But now, it felt like a prison. There were no longer family photos on the walls or flowers on the kitchen counters. It never smelt of freshly baked cookies and the sound of music or laughter could never be heard. The blank walls and lack of colour and warmth served as a constant reminder that there was no life inside those walls, just pain and loss and fear.