Title: Me, Myself and I
By: CfSbIi (allie.)
Rating: K+ (I don't like these new ratings!)
Summary: It's me, myself and I, alone in the world and trying to hold on for dear life.
Disclaimer: There not mine and the Series Finale ended just the way that I wanted so we are all good now!
AN: This is in Mac POV when she was growing up with her parents.
They always fight. Yelling back and forth at one another until either one of them snap, and when they do you know to be as far away as possible. The last time that it happened it was my fault. I did something to set her off again, and she started yelling at me, and then I started to yell back. She said mean things and so did I. Back and forth we went. Yelling at one another. That's when dad came home. He was already in a bad mood and the fact that I hadn't done my homework yet and that mom and I were fighting didn't make things any better, so he started yelling. Telling me that I was ungrateful, and that I didn't think of anyone but myself. But that is how I was brought up, if I didn't do it then no one would. If I didn't take care of myself then no one would. It was me, myself and I, alone in the world and trying to hold on for dear life.
I hit her. I didn't mean to, but dad was trying to take something from me, I don't remember what it was now, but he was trying and he hit me. So I hit him back, and that surprised him. It was the first time that I had ever raised a hand to him even if it wasn't the first time that he had hit me. And that is when it all snapped. She was coming at me, and never before had I feared my mother. So I hit her before she could hit me.
I never thought that I would ever hit my mother. She was always the one that was there for me, she would put herself in front of me every time that dad came home in a bad mood, but I needed to protect myself. It was me, myself and I, alone in the world and trying to hold on for dear life.
Then he lost it. It was okay for him to hit her, but it wasn't for me? He used her as a punching bag so many times that sometimes it was hard to tell what wasn't makeup on her face. I remember once she had to come in for parent teacher meetings and she had a black eye. She had spent most of the morning trying to cover it up, but it ended up looking worse then when she had started, so she just wore sunglasses. Sitting next to her at my desk I didn't know what to think. Everyone else's mothers didn't look like mine; they didn't have to wear their sunglasses inside because their husbands hit them because they felt like it.
Afterwards I ran. I remember that it was raining and I couldn't stop, I wouldn't stop. If I did then they would find me and that couldn't happen. If they found me then I was going to be in trouble, maybe look like my mother for school the next day. Finally when I did stop running I couldn't breathe, so I sat down on the ground in the middle of a big open field, and just sat and cried. I didn't know what to think and I was lost in the world and didn't know what to do.
It was me, myself and I, alone in the world and trying to hold on for dear life.
The End.