I can hear the shouts and screams coming from outside my bedroom door. Horrified at the tears that spring to my eyes, I make my escape to the bathroom and sit there, on the floor, with my knees drawn to my chest.
The screams get louder, louder than they were before. Louder than the usual, louder than my ears can bear.
Now a door slams, and he yells, "Could you slam it any louder?" The door slams again, this time the sound of breaking glass follows it.
My head shoots up and my legs tremble at her pained scream. Now I'm worried about the ones downstairs, the little, little, little ones.
"See what you've gone?" She cries, and I can imagine the barely contained tears welling up behind her eyes. My own tears are escaping their restraints, trickling down my cheeks and dripping off my chin.
High-pitched voices are talking, asking, "What happened?" I jump to my feet, run from the bathroom and pull on the bedroom door.
It's locked.
"Don't come upstairs!" She snaps, sending the softer footsteps fleeing back downstairs. My heart is hammering in my chest. My arms are shaking as I pull on the doorknob.
The screaming resumes. I'm wondering when we'll get to the breaking point. It's only a matter of time before it ends.
"Clean it up! Look what you did!"
"Me? It was you!"
"Do you think I have time to clean your mess? With all the things I have to do!"
I back away from the door. I don't want to hear it anymore. My mind wanders to the windows, to the fire escape ladder in a box nearby. My eyes land on my schoolbag. It would be so easy to runaway. Nobody would hear me with all this screaming.
But no. The little kids downstairs wouldn't be able to fend for themselves if I was gone.
Chocking back the sobbing noises that threaten to burst from my throat, I run back to my bed, hiding my head under a pillow. I clutch a book to my chest, the one I had been reading before the fight had begun.
"I can't take this!" She wails, stomping from her place. "Girls, don't come up here! Kurapika, don't go downstairs!"
"Ok." The three of us yell back, and I'm no longer surprised at how we're able to keep a normal tone. It's happened so many times. So many times. It no longer affects us, they think. But they're wrong. So very wrong. We've simply nearly perfected our indifferent act.
As if we didn't mind the constant arguments.
"We'll just sleep downstairs!" She yells, and he grunts a reply as she continues. "I don't know how we'll deal in the morning, but YOU have to clean it!"
He chuckles and snaps back a remark. And I hiccup as tears gush faster down my face. I risk a trip to my desk and blast up the radio. It doesn't matter what station or what song as long as it drowned out their words. But it seemed as if the louder I put the music, the louder they would scream. Leaving it at the maximum volume, I dive back under the blankts.
The song switches. Now "This is War" by 30 Seconds to Mars begins to play. The lyrics linger in my mind, a perfect background to my parents shouts. It's the moment of truth, the moment to lie. It's the moment to live and the moment to die. It's the moment to fight. Moment to fight. To fight. To fight. To fight!
After an hour or so of meaningless screaming, it quiets down to soft sobs as she bends. Finally, I can hear him begin to snore as the tinkling of glass reaches my ears. She's lost, she's cleaning.
As I fight to even out my breathing, I search for something to vent on. My eyes pass over the windows and my schoolbag, over the ladder, over the books. Then I see the notebook in the corner.
Dragging myself to that corner, I find a pen and open to a fresh page. Shoulders shaking and tears dripping to the page, I begin to write. It started like this:
I can hear the shouts and screams coming from outside my bedroom door.
-END-
Yuuki: I felt like posting this for no particular reason so I changed my name into Kurapika's and did. Sorry for crappy writing but I needed a way to vent this time.