"It'd be so nice to have a partner for once. I don't know if you can squeeze that into your busy schedule of getting drunk and waking up on the couch hungover at three a.m., but that would be great."

"What more do you want from me?"

"I want you to be here. For me, for our daughter..."

"Can you hear yourself right now?"

"I want you to help me..."

"Can you listen for..."

"I am doing everything..."

"Yeah, um-hm,"

"...Literally everything. Working three jobs is hard enough without having to deal with your bullshit when I come home! How do you think that makes Violet feel?"

"If you felt that way why'd we even bother having a child!"

"How dare you say that! This isn't her fault!"

"Who fucking cares! I'm a man of freedom. This is my house and I can do what I want!"

"You don't care about me, you don't care about her. What do you have to say for yourself?! Do you even care?! It makes me sick to my stomach. I can't believe I ever even married you!"

"Would you give me a goddamn minute to talk!?"

"Oh, sure. Wha-what could you possibly..."

"Just give me a second...to GET A WORD IN!"

"...have to add to THIS CONVERSATION!"

In between the coats in the closet, she held on to that heart-shaped locket. Starin at a family flawless, but it ain't a pretty picture tonight. Her mom and daddy just wouldn't stop it, fighting at the drop of a faucet.

She came here often to get away from the fighting. Their yells muffled through the clothing and thin drywall that made up the closet in her bedroom, but each word was still a knife's stab to the heart. No matter how hard she tried each time she could still hear the arguing, the swearing, sometimes crashes or door slamming. It cut through the walls easily, slipping through cracks of sorrow and despair. Each time catastrophic.

This time was no different. Her mom got mad at her dad again for getting drunk when he was supposed to be watching her while her mom was at work. It wasn't the first time nor would it be the last, but somehow every time it always seemed to revolve around her. It always came back to Violet. Something she had done, something about her being a liability now, something about taking care of her, something about being happier before she came along. And each time it was always her fault, she was always caught in the crossfire.

Violet pulled her knees up to her chest. One hand wrapped around them, the other ran a finger over the metal casing of the golden locket that hung around her neck. The necklace cold to the touch, just like the feeling in her heart. Inside held a picture of her and her mom and dad, back before all the fighting, when they were happy. Back before...her grandparents died.

It was better back then. There was still fighting at times, little arguments about financial problems and shit like that, but it never got this bad. It would usually end with her mom crying and her dad apologizing saying they'ed get through it. But back then they had grandma and grandpa to help out. They'd help out with financial problems to help her parents make ends meet and they'd watch Violet often when her parents were to busy with work.

Then once grandpa died, that's when the drinking started. Her dad could be found past out on the couch every other night with a bottle in his hand and about six others littering the table. Grandma didn't take it well either, choosing to just end it by shooting herself. In front of Violet no less.

She knew her parents thought it was her fault, her dad especially. He blamed her for everything now of days. She couldn't blame them for thinking that way, it's not like she had tried to stop her grandmother. If she was being honest with her self, it was mostly from how scared she had been when grandma had pulled out the gun. Afterward, she had been to paralyzed with fear to move from her spot on the floor and call for help. The shock and panic too consuming to even think about calling the police or anyone for that matter.

She remembered the scream of her mother's horrified cries once she came to pick her up five hours later. Then how once her mother had calmed down enough to ask her what had happened, she collapsed into her arms and cried her eyes out harder than she ever had before. She had been close to her grandparents. Then one moment they were gone and apparently her parents with them.

The only good thing that had come out of all of this was her father gaining her grandparent's inheritance money which had enabled them to move out of their old trailer and buy a real house. But it didn't feel like a house, it felt more like a prison if anything. She couldn't count how many times she had locked herself inside this closet hoping, praying, that somehow it would be okay. Anything to get away from the noise. She wished they were both just faking or it was just a game they were playing, but playing pretend wouldn't save her at this point.

She winced when an outburst grew louder behind her, she was sure she heard her name again. She clutched her locket in her hand and squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping out and sliding down in silent streams. The screaming only seemed to escalate, the voices more consuming as they ripped through the walls filling every room in the house with their harsh blows.

She threw her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the noise. She started talking through the tears, praying for them to cease the fighting. "Please, please make them stop." She choked out. "Just make it stop!" She cried, her whole body shaking wildly as sob after sob racked through her twelve-year-old body. Each word reminding her of the gunshot from her grandmother's death.

Through bleary eyes, she saw one of those plastic pistols laying on the floor of her closet, the kind with the orange tip on the end to show it was just a toy. She remembered her grandpa buying it for her, saying how he'd teach her to shoot when she was older. He liked to go to the shooting range every so often and Violet always begged for him to take her with him.

She looked at it now, envious and full of hatred. If only the gun her grandmother had used had been a little toy gun instead of a .22 rifle. Then she'd still be here and Violet wouldn't have to deal with a house full of hateful words. Every comment, every snide remark, every accusing word laced with poison, regret, hostility. The kind that cut you like a knife, meant to break you inside. And they were all in one way or another directed at Violet. They may have been yelling at each other, but it might as well have been at her. She knew her dad hated her, blamed her for what happened with his parents. It wasn't her fault, none of it was, but they sure made it feel like it.

She picked up the pistol. The noise outside reaching full volume as her mom screamed out the word conversation. She screamed in frustration and threw the gun as hard as she could against the wall of the closet. The little plastic weapon cracked and landed in pieces on the floor, much like Violet's life. She grabbed a pillow and screamed as loud as she could into it, the sound muffled by the fabric. She just wanted it to stop! Wanted anyone to hear her please, wanted someone to come and save her.

That night Violet fell asleep in her closet. Her pillow wet with tears after crying herself to sleep. If only words were like little toy guns.

Just a Bang! Bang! rolling off the tongue.

This was just something I've been thinking about writing for years, but it was originally going to be done with Clem. But Violet works much better. ;)

Secret Life of Writing Out! :)