Mum, Stop!

School was the same, if not worse. I got called names, mocked and pushed on the lockers because I was the poorest among them. The only way I could attend the school was because of the scholarship I got in middle school. I was practically going to school through the pockets of the other students' parents, and they never ceased to make me feel unwanted. 

At home, I was abused, in school, I was nothing but an outcast, a sore thumb and I never really fit. I just wanted to get away from all this, to stop the pain and the nightmares.

After class, I spent the rest of the afternoon in the park, watching parents play with their kids and wondering why I was different. Why did my dad have to die when he did? Why didn't he take me with him? 

Different questions swirled around my head, like they had been doing since I came of age. I know most people in my shoes would have long committed suicide, but I couldn't. I still have a promise to keep.

I had given my dad my word, vowed to be an outstanding doctor. I couldn't go back on the words I gave to the only person who ever loved me. 

Fed up with watching the happy families while knowing I would never have what they had; love, contentment and happiness, I went home, limping and dragging my feet along. 

I grew cold when I saw the lights on in the sitting room. I had thought mother would be out tonight. It was a Friday, and she hardly ever spent the night at home. Seeing the light, I was overwhelmed with a raw feeling of dread. 

Is she drunk or sober?

None of the options was okay, but I'd take a sober mum over a tipsy one.

I stood, frozen to the ground in shock. I couldn't decide what to do at that moment. Returning to school wasn't an option. The last time I stayed away from home for an entire night, I have the mark to show for it. My mother had used a hot pressing iron to design my back. The pain had been so unbearable back then that I thought I would die.

Unfortunately, I didn't. The bitch might hate me, but it was obvious she didn't wish to be alone. 

I gathered the courage to walk to the door, resigned to my fate. If she were drunk, I would only need to endure a few minutes of beating before I make it to my room to hide. If she were sober, I might be lucky enough to avoid a confrontation with her, as she hardly spared me a glance when sober. Unless it's his…. No, Dad's anniversary isn't until a month. 

I both looked forward to that day and loathed it. It was the only day I could grieve my father, but also the day when my mother unleashed all her pent-up frustrations on me. Last year, she hit me with a belt until I lost consciousness, only to start again when she revived me. 

Thankfully, his anniversary this year would be two days after my final exam. I wouldn't be around for her to use me as a punching bag. I would be long gone before that day. 

As I pushed open the door, a chill ran down my body. My heart thudded in my chest like a ticking time bomb as I scanned the room frantically, my eyes darting from one corner to the next, searching for any sign of her. The silence was oppressive, and it made my skin crawl. I didn't like it. It was almost like the calm before the storm.

My legs trembled beneath me as I took a step forward, my eyes fixed on the stairs. Escape seemed like the only option. I'll just run for —

“Nina, are you back?”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My mouth felt like the Sahara, dry and desolate. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my palms grew slick with fear. My heart was racing, pounding in my chest like a drum. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. 

She's sober. 

That was all I could think of. At least it meant I wouldn't go to sleep with body pains. However, there was no telling what would happen later. What if she takes a beer before bed?

“Nina?”

“I'm… I'm… ba...ba…ba…back, ma,” I responded, shivering.

My heart beat escalated when I heard the clink of her heels on the tiles. Is she going out? I wondered, trying to understand why she would wear her shoes inside. 

I gripped my backpack so tight, my hands turned ashy white. I couldn't move as my knees knocked into each other. 

When she showed up at the top of the stairs, with a filled glass cup brimming to the brink with her favourite liquor, I knew I was fucked. 

“Where were you last night?”

Each clink of her shoes on the tiles, as she descended, sent my blood spiking. I drew a step back, my throat dry, my hands bloody white and my lips trembling. She sounded sober, but her looks were the opposite. Her eyes were partially closed, and her steps weren't straight.

“Answer me, damn it!”

I almost jumped out of my skin. Letting go of my grip on my backpack, I looked up at her, my face ashen white and my heart thumping loudly, slamming against my ribcage. 

“I…” Despite my fear, I was quick enough to dodge the glass that came flying my way. 

“Bitch!” she yelled, staggering as she closed the distance between us. Before I could react, I felt the sting…the sound had been so loud that I didn't realise what had happened until I felt the throb on my left cheek. I staggered back, with my hands placed on my cheeks and eyes welling in tears.

“Mum —”

“Don't you dare!” She pushed me, sending me flying, right on the shards of glass. I screamed out in pain at the slice on my skin. She moved fast, her fists wrapped around my hair and she pulled it so hard, I felt some hair loose. 

“Please!” I cried out, reaching to stop her from pulling my hair again. She didn't stop. She dragged me on the floor, as more strands bit into my skin. My cries for mercy turned into wails as I struggled for dear life. 

This was the first time she had gotten extreme with me. 

“Please stop. Mum!”

“I'm not your fucking mum!” She smacked my head on the floor so hard, I saw stars. “You're a fucking bastard! You bloody took him away from me!” She hit my head harder before she let go, pushing me. She staggered to the kitchen, and I heard her searching for something.

That was my cue to run to my room, but I couldn't rise, despite the screaming from my brain for me to get away. My body felt weak, all the strength draining from it.

However, when she reappeared, and I saw the knife in her hand, I knew it was over. Her madness had finally caught up with her.