I sigh and look out the window of the shack I call a house. Cars drove by quickly.
Probably eager to get away from this dump.
I thought to myself. Suddenly I heard the screen door slam shut and I jumped slightly. That was never a good sound.
My old man was home. Judging by the sounds of his footsteps, he didn't exactly sound.... happy.
The door to my bedroom suddenly burst open and a small squeak erupts from my throat. Stood in the doorway was my drunk excuse of a father.
His beer belly poked out and I could practically smell the alcohol from where I was sitting. His eyes were glassy and filled with rage.
He looked at me angrily and raised the half empty bottle of beer he had in his hand and pointed it directly at me.
"You bitch. What the hell are you still doing living in my house!" He yells and I flinch. I was used to him yelling at me.
He beats me sometimes as well. Nothing I can't handle. Lately he's been big on threatening to kick me out.
"I'm 15, I can't live by myself." I reply smartly. Bad choice. His eyes blazed angrily and he chucked the bottle at me. I ducked just in time but that didn't stop the beer to spill all over me.
"Get the hell out of my house!" He yells. I remain seated. Maybe he'll just forget about it?
"Get out bitch! I'm sick and tired of feeding you. You don't do shit around here!"
"You don't even feed me." I mumble. But of course he heard me.
"You little shit." He says. He trails off yelling other profanities while he searched for something.
Suddenly I heard him crack his belt and my eyes widened. He was serious about me leaving? I had nowhere else to go.
"Get out of my damn house! I am sick and tired of you sassing me!" He yells. Suddenly I felt the belt hit my skin and I whimpered in pain.
He repeatedly belted me until he felt he had enough. He threw it somewhere in the corner and spat on me.
"Be out in an hour." He says walking out of the room. I sat on my bed cowering in fear, and pain.
Everything throbbed and burned. I slowly sat up hissing in pain. I've had worse beatings.
I looked around my room as if it would give me any indications of who I could stay with until my dad blew over this 'move out' phase.
I didn't have any family in New York. My brother left a few years ago and I never heard from him. I had no idea where he lived and as far as I know, he's my only other living relative. As far as I knew.
I started packing my things slowly. Just the things I thought necessary. I'd be coming back in a few days anyways because my dad would be pissed that I left.
I decided maybe I could stay on the streets a few days. Its not like I haven't done it before. Just last week actually my dad did this exact same thing.
He found me sleeping near the river and forced me to come home where he busted a bottle over my back.
When I had a few things packed up in a small bag I was limping out the door. The old man was passed out in his chair with the tv on.
I rolled my eyes. The prick. I hated that bastard.
I walked a ways down the street until I found a grassy street corner.
"This oughta be good for a few days." I tell myself. I sprawled the blanket I had brought out on the ground and used the bag as a pillow.
Nights in New York get cold. Last time I wasn't prepared. This time, I am.
A few cars passed by me. I watched lazily. Being outside wasn't so bad actually. The sun was hitting my face nicely causing my body to warm up.
The cool breeze was relaxing as it washed over my burned skin. The grass tickled my arms as I reached over and picked a flower.
A few days out here wouldn't be the worst thing ever.
Then it started raining.
Literally out of nowhere a burst of rain hit and I was instantly soaked along with my belongings.
I quickly gathered them up and headed further into town where I stopped outside of a convenient store. I put my stuff down and watched as people ran by using their coats as umbrellas.
Clearly no one was expecting it to rain.
Once my stuff had almost completely dried, I set it all out again and lay down. By now it was getting dark so I pulled the cover out from under me and used it as a blanket.
The ground was hard, of course but it was nothing like the night I spent by the river. A bunch of hobos were cat calling and some college boys attempted to seduce me.
Pathetic.
I drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Shivering slightly because of the damp blanket.
A few days later
I've been living outside for the past 4 days. Surly my dad would be calm enough by now?
I was starting to get hungry being as I had no money for food and I was seriously not hungry enough to dig through a New York trash can.
So I gathered my things and made my way back home.
I sucked in a deep breath when I walked up to the porch. I attempted to open the door but it was locked. Weird, the old prick never locks the door.
I went over to the side and looked in through the window. He was out like a light on his chair.
I sigh and put my bag down and shimmy the window open. I crawled inside and made my way to the kitchen. Seriously is this guy dead?
I made myself a quick sandwich and just as I was about to take a bite I felt someone grab my wrist tightly.
I turn around and see my dad was standing there. Anger prominent in his eyes once more.
"Thought I told you to leave." He says. His thick New York accent coming out.
"I thought you were joking." I reply. He squeezes my arm tighter and I wince and drop my sandwich.
"I'm not messing around Vixen. Get the hell out of my house and stay out."
"W-where the hell do you want me to go!" I yell back instantly earning a hard slap to the face.
"Watch your mouth bitch. And I don't care where the hell you go as long as it's away from me."
I gulp and he released me and makes his way to the living room muttering obscenities.
I felt tears welling up and I ran to my room to pack the rest of my things.
I can't believe he was serious. He really wants me to leave. Where the fuck am I gonna go!?
