5 years ago…
”Get out! And don’t come back!” I heard my mother yell.
I blamed myself. If I had covered my tattoo better, my father wouldn’t have been kicked out.
My dad gave me my first tattoo. That was about a week ago. Today, I accidentally wrote a shirt that was too low-cut, showing my simple black crescent tattoo, just above my breasts. Dad had one on his wrist.
Mom hated tattoos. I, like my dad, loved them.
I had no doubt I would be the next one to face my mothers wrath. I was always the least favorite, although I never knew why.
Just as I suspected, footsteps pounded near to my room. My mother opened the door, her face red with malice in her expression. I stayed quiet as she glared at me, knowing if I said something I would make it worse.
“One more slip up and you’re out.” She stated, slamming the door as she stormed out.
I sighed in relief.
The next day, I woke up to banging on my door. I got up out of bed, opened the door, and saw Hector, my little brother. “Mom wants you.” He said, grinning like the demon child he was.
I took a deep breath to collect myself before walking towards my mother’s room. I opened the door and found my mother on the floor hugging her knees, crying. I rushed to her side. “Mother?” I questioned, my voice shaking.
She glared at me, but something in her gaze held disbelief. “He’s dead.” She said.
Although she had just spoken such life-changing words, she was very calm. I hoped it would last.
It didn’t. I should’ve known not to open my mouth, but before I had thought not to I had already spoken. “Who?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
”Your father, dimwit, who else?!” She snapped, now yelling instead of crying or being calm.
By then I was crying. She ignored this. “It’s your fault! You are not my daughter. Why have I put up with you?! Out! Get out of my house! You are no longer welcome here!”
I stumbled getting up, and rushed to my room. I quickly packed my few belongings, and jumped out the window into the outside world.
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