11 years
Bitch.
"Jimmy! Open the fucking door NOW before I bash your bastard head in!"
Don't you just love mothers?
Tentatively, I opened the battered door to the bathroom a crack. Makeup caked my hands from an attempt to cover up the bruises on my ribs. Not that anyone was going to see them, I just didn't want to see them any longer. Putting on my bravest face I could, I opened the door to face my mum.
I was 11 by this point and shorter than my mum by an inch. At this time in my life I was a straight B+ student (to stay under the radar of course) but could outwit any teacher in the subjects of Maths, Science, and English. I could also proudly steal, manipulate, and deduce as if it was walking, talking, or breathing. I knew how to control my emotions when I wanted to, and I knew how to control others without them knowing. My one weakness, the one fucking splinter in my entire being of perfection, was my god-forsaken-son-of-a-bitch mum. Ever since I can remember all she would do is drink and beat me to a pulp. Every so often she would drug me and cradle me as if I was a fecking infant again. Those were her good moments. I suppose the blood lust is hereditary.
Grabbing me by the throat and slamming me to the floor my mother cursed at me loud enough to quake the earth. "You little shite! You FUCKING devil! I should strangle you in your sleep!" With each sentence the woman slammed my head into the tiles of the bathroom. Fighting back was futile. It would only make things worse. No matter how much I despise admitting I needed help, I probably would have died right there if it wasn't for the sudden trill of the doorbell.
Rushing down the stairs and muttering a string of profanities my mother slammed open the front door. Slowly, but carefully, picking myself up, I headed to my room where I climbed through the open window and down the ivy that clung to the wall, running towards the forest that bordered the house.
I ran until I had no breath left in me. I caught my breath on the side of a tree near a small ravine. Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them back, not letting myself be weak. I could still feel the salty drops burn my dry eyes, reminding me of the pain I was feeling on the side of my head. I dropped to the ground, tentatively wetting my shirt in the ravine to clean my head with.
Dazed, a plan formed in my prepubescent brain. The plan was smart, brilliant if I may say so myself - and I do. To this day I remember every step back to the house, every second towards freedom. Oh mother, poor stupid bitch. Every time I had been hit, kicked, beaten within an inch of my life, flashed before my eyes. I was ready now, and fuck all, she deserved what was coming to her.
I climbed back into my room and snuck downstairs, to find my mum was in the kitchen rustling through the cabinets. I went to her bedroom and crawled under the bed, taking out the gun she kept hidden. Hands trembling, I popped open the cylinder, shaking out the bullets to make sure it wasn't loaded. I only needed to threaten. I didn't want any evidence left.
I waited under the bed until I heard her walk upstairs calling my name. Slowly, gun behind my back, I crept up the stairs and into my room to find the whore sitting on my bed with a bottle of cheap wine in her hand. Smiling crookedly she looked at me and said: "Oh there you are Jimmy. Come back eh? Good boy." Seconds before she lunged at me I pulled out the gun.
"Don't move a muscle mummy." I was shaking so hard I could barely keep the gun in my hands. Whether I was shaking from happiness or nervousness I didn't know, either way I couldn't help it, it was almost over. She froze, absolutely terrified for once in her Goddamned life. The feeling that came over me was absolutely wonderful. Seeing the fear in her eyes gave me a high of pure bliss.
Slowly, keeping the gun aimed at her I went to my closet, taking out the rope mummy usually used to tie me up and keep me in the closet. Oh the irony that this should be her peacemaker. I threw the rope at her, hitting her lap. "Tie a noose." She didn't move. "Now bitch before I fucking shoot you square in the head. I know you know how. You've used it on me before. Or have you conveniently forgot?" I spoke soft and low, not eager to let the neighbors hear, but eager to unease the whore in her final hours. Undying trepidation filled my mother as she began tying her own noose. What do you know? The bitch started crying.
"Jimmy don't. I'm your mother!" She was sobbing and shaking, finishing off the knot used on me many a time before.
I snorted. "Mothers don't try to kill their children Genevieve. Mothers are nice, sweet, bake fucking cookies for their children! They don't tie them up and leave them in a closet for a day to starve." I took a step closer, hearing the power in my voice gave me a new found confidence I had never felt before. I had barely said a word to her in my life and there I was! I jerked the gun forward, motioning to the noose. "Put it on and shut the fuck up or I'll fucking SHOOT!" Glaring and clenching my fists I watched her delicately put on the fine necklace. I took a deep breath and, keeping an eye and the gun on her, wrapped the end of the rope around the foot of my bed, for extra measures, and finally on the doorknob.
"Go sit on the edge of the window." Genevieve complied. I smiled. This was easier that I had originally thought.
"You can't kill me. You couldn't even aim right. You'd try." She was breaking out of her spell, realizing I had no power. No time for any of my practiced monologues. It was time for her to go. As I walked towards her holding the gun she spat at me. "Aim or try to ya little cunt." Then sadly, she slipped. Who am I kidding? I pushed her. I loved it.
Delicately placing the gun in a box of toys, I returned to the window. The coughs and splatters were music to my ears. I smiled, jumping on my bed. I counted. 1, breath, 2, breath, 3, breath. I inhaled, soaking in the oxygen, something my poor mother couldn't do. I sniggered in a breathy daze.
I walked lightly over to the door, unable to open from the weight of my mother. Taking a deep breath I channeled a normal little boy and started screaming. I banged my fists in the door and screamed bloody murder - in this case the murder wasn't bloody, but the idiom still makes me giggle. I fussed and fussed until I heard the door slam open. I then ran to the corner of my room opposite the door and huddled into a ball, playing the act of the scarred little helpless boy.
Eventually the neighbors knocked the door down, finding poor little me, locked in a room with my dead mother hanging out the window. It took all of my will power to not show how happy I was to finally have that woman out of my life. At some point the police were called and I was cradled into an ambulance.
As I walked from the damned house for the last time, it was all I could do to hide the looming bounce in my step.
AN. Thank you to those of you who have favourited this and followed this! I have the first seven or so chapters written, and then I have no idea where to go with this, so if you have any thoughts or opinions or any sort of ideas relating to this story or others I could write just zing me. Thank you so much again! It gives me more motivation to get my arse into gear and write!
ANN: Does that even work? Hmmm. Well I hate it when author's apologize about their work, but I felt kind of all over the place when I wrote this chapter. I tend to write out of hate, and I'm sure it turns out to be really sporadic when I do. I can promise that it does get better however!
Thank you all again so much.
Shai