My face finally started to ache as I packed as many clothes as I could into my duffle bag. I called my boyfriend Hector sobbing, "He did it again. We have to go now, please pack a bag."
"Baby calm down. Are you sure?"
"Yes! Please hurry before something happens." I hung up and rushed out of my room that I would never go back to as long as that man-no, that pig lived there. Who is he you ask? My stepdad. Yeah I know, typical "Oh my stepdad is mean to me because I'm not his child." Wrong. This man was the devil himself, and it was either run, or die trying.
I started down the stairs and saw my brother sitting on the couch crying. Luckily that man was gone so I could kiss my brother on the head and tell him that I loved him, and I would be back for him soon.
I walked out the front door, ignoring my mothers sobs, her curse words at me, the look on her face. I did what needed to be done, couldn't she see that? I walked down the drive way and then I took a left, headed down the road in the direction that Hector would be coming from. A replay of the night played over in my head. My face getting slammed into the mantle, blood running into my eyes. I couldn't see to defend myself, laying on the floor dazed, being kicked and called obscenities while my mother just sat on the couch and sobbed. What kind of mother was she? I thought I could trust her and rely on her, she was my parent after all. I know what you're thinking. Where is her dad, why doesn't she go live with him instead of running away? Well, he's dead. He died when I was eight, and its been me and my mom ever since, until this guy showed up.
He started out as the perfect man. He took my mom on fancy dates, bought her nice things, and then they got married. They had my brother, Logan, and by the time he turned three, he started to change. Work slowed, his temper rose. Something clicked inside of him, and he took it out on me. At first he would just call me names. Piggy, selfish, cunt, lazy. You name it, I have probably heard it. I tried telling my mom, and she didn't believe me. He once tried to make an advance on me. I had just gotten out of the shower, going back to my room with a towel wrapped around me. He stopped me and touched my hip over my towel, moving down to my bare skin. I swallowed and pushed the memory out of my head, I kept on down the road with my bag weighing down on my shoulder.
My boyfriend pulled up next to me and I hopped in. He started to freak out about the blood on my face, the blood all over my body.
"I swear I'm going to kill him. He should never touch you. I'll see to it that he regrets the day he was—"
"It doesn't matter anymore. We're leaving. Really leaving, let's get out of this boring state, let's just drive." He said nothing more. "We can never come back."
I looked at him, looked at the blood on my clothes, looked at the road ahead of us, "I got rid of him."
"Yes. They're safe from him now, but I'm not safe because of it. I know my mother will call the cops eventually."
"What did you do?" I peered at him out of the corner of my eye, should I tell him? Would he forgive me? I had to tell him. Just not today.