A/N: hi everyone! yes i know i have a few stories going. this is an idea i had and wanted to work with. i may or may not continue it, i'm still deciding.....
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The top step rushed up at me. My arm bent awkwardly as I tried to catch myself, but it was no use. Gravity took over and I tumbled painfully down the stairs and landed, hard, in a heap on the first floor. My head throbbed from being slammed against the floor, and I gulped in air in quick gasps. Tears pressed into my eyes, but I fought them back, not wanting him to see. If he saw even a single tear, he would start off about how I needed to be stronger.
I looked up from the floor to see my adoptive father standing at the top of the stairs, glaring down at me with angry, brown, bloodshot eyes. It was amazing how drunk someone could be at seven o'clock in the morning.
"Don't you ever speak to me like that again, you god damned slut!" he bellowed, wagging his finger at me. "Understand?"
I bit back the remark I wanted to make, and instead said, "Yes, sir."
"Now get your ass to school before you're late," he growled, and then turned and wobbled back to his bedroom.
I waited until the door slammed shut before slowly pushing myself up off the floor. The room tilted slightly, and I grabbed the banister to steady myself. Tenderly, I touched the throbbing spot near my eyebrow and winced, pulling my hand away quickly, only to find blood on my fingers. After cleaning up the small cut, I grabbed my things and, cradling the sleeping child in my arm, rushed out the door, remembering to also grab the bag I had hidden under the porch the night before. I had made my decision, and I wasn't going back to that house. Maybe I could go and live with my birth parents. I mean, sure, they gave me away as a baby. But they couldn't turn away their daughter and granddaughter when we need them, right? And maybe they would have an explanation for my thirteenth birthday. A girl could hope.