Chapter 3

My mother was on her way here. Right now. She would hurt me like before but most likely, she would do worse damage to me more so than before. I ran away from home. I don't want to imagine what she will do to me considering I usually receive a slap across the face for just talking back to her. No, I went way overboard now. I sometimes thought that maybe I did a good thing for her. She hated me so I figured that she would be happy after I left. But I also know that it must have caused her a lot of problems too. Like with the bills and attention (though I knew she secretly loved the attention even if it was inconvenient).

So as of now, I wasn't sure what her reaction would be at seeing me. My guess was a rough beating. But I knew that all I had to do was get through that, then I would be gone later tomorrow night. I could handle one rough beating or whatever it would be until tomorrow. Because tomorrow night, I was running away again. Somehow, I needed to. Living on the streets again would be better than another year in that house with her before I'm 18.

But even though it was just another day then I'm gone, I was still terrified. Because from now to tomorrow night, a lot could happen. A lot could happen to me and I didn't know what would. I was tough; I was a fighter and I fought against her. But I knew taking a beating would be easier than putting up a fight that could make it worse. After all, one beating. I could take it.

After the girl left and it was just Luke and I again, he gave me a sympathetic look. I don't know why either but he looked sorry. Maybe he saw how much I despised the thought of going home. Or maybe even my slight fear, but I doubt I showed it clear enough on my face.

"Well, I think we are done here anyway," he said, closing the folder. He then looked up to me and when he did, his expression changed. His eyebrows stitched together, his eyes meeting mine and he gave me an understanding look. The officer pursed his lips, appearing as if he wanted to say something still.

At first, I wondered why he had that expression and wanted to say something until I realized what I was doing. Realized why he was looking at me like that. From where I was sitting, I looked down at my hands that rested in my lap. They were shaking. My whole body was from fear and I could hear my breath was erratic. Noticing this, I looked back up at him as he observed my frightened state. I was scared. I just tried telling myself it wouldn't be that bad. After all, I took so much of that shit before. I can handle whatever else she throws at me. I was just maybe a little rusty after a year of being beaten-free on the streets.

"What?" I asked, sharply, not liking that he was still here and looking at me like that when I glanced back up at him.

He sighed, tucking the folder under his arm before he raised his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes still on mine. "I know what you think," he said. "You think that your mother will take you home and beat you again like you claimed. And I'm sure you are not lying; because you honestly believe that will happen. That's how you are just confused. You don't understand what is happening around you and don't realize that your mind is playing tricks on you. I'm sure your mother loves you and doesn't do those things to you. And I know that you believe she does but it's because to you, that is the truth. You really believe it. But try to see that you are just... tricking yourself into thinking sh--"

I laughed and when I did, he stopped speaking. That's what everyone thinks in the end. That I'm insane - even he does as he just reveled. Even though he doesn't think like everyone else does, he still believes that I'm imagining my mother abusing me. He's not accusing me of lying because he knows that I really do believe she does that to me. And he's right. I do believe that - because that is what happens to me. She beats me. He was wrong about the part of me imagining it.

It was better than what others thought, I suppose. People figure I'm just messed up in the head and imagine it but they also think that I'm cruel and hurt myself. They think I blame my mother for attention. They believe I belong in a mental institution. But he doesn't. He just thinks I'm confused about what my mother's intentions are. Yet, in the end, that still mean's he thinks I'm insane.

I didn't blame him for thinking that. The proof was in that folder he was just looking at. If I was in his place, I wouldn't even believe me. There were documents and papers proving I was. I understood that and couldn't blame him. I just wish someone at least gave me the chance to prove the papers were wrong.

Looking at me with the worried expression, I laughed, feeling my body shake harder. Because my mother was coming, because of the weed, and because of him now. "I get it, man. I do and don't blame you. But you are wrong. I'm not confused and I'm not imagining it. You can't convince me that I am."

He sighed and looked sorry. I figured out why he kept giving me those worried and sympathetic looks. Because he figured that in my mind, to me, I was going home and would get beaten. He knew that would happen in my mind anyway. But he believed, in reality, that wasn't actually happening to me.

"You're right; I can't. You need to figure things out on your own. Goodbye, Albany," he said as he turned and started walking back down the hall and out of sight before I could say any more.

"Well, fuck you too," I muttered, too quiet for him to hear now that I could make out his fading footsteps. I for some reason was really pissed off now at him and I wasn't sure why. I thought about it though. I mean, I understood where he was coming from. He obviously thought I was somewhat messed up but he had proof.

I understood a moment later why when it dawned on me. It was because at first, before he said that, he said I was just confused and not insane. I put hope into that - hope into him believing me - and I shouldn't have. I knew better than to trust that someone would believe me. Yet, I let myself think for a minute that maybe he understood. But now, I saw it was just pointless hope. Hope. The only emotion that seemed worthless. I was disappointed in him.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there shaking, just waiting for her to come and get me. And finally, she did. I heard the sound of high-heels hitting the hard floor, walking fast. I swallowed hard and forced myself to sit up more, trying to calm down. But the sound was coming closer and I felt like I was going to explode. I haven't seen this bitch in over a year. And already, I was annoyed of her and upset, scared shitless.

The sound came closer and then, after a year, I saw my mother come into view. She stopped outside my cell and her eyes met mine and when they did, I was ready to vomit. I was never so scared of her before this moment. Because I never ran away or did something this extreme before. Not to mention, I wasn't caught after leaving. No, I was absent for over a year and I had no clue what was coming my way. I was never really scared of her before. I was just upset and mad before because she was so annoying and would always hurt me, make me be her slave. I often fought back against her when she tried hurting me but she was much stronger than I was and it usually ended with me either really bloody or unconscious sometimes. Of course, that was before I knew how to defend myself too.... I took her down before, I could do it again. That didn't calm much of my fear either way though.

But now... I was scared like never before.

As she stood outside of my cell, I took her in after all this time. She was young for a mother with a daughter of my age since she had me when she was 15. She was 32 now. Her dark brown hair curled over her shoulders blades in shinny round locks that reached the middle of her back the last time I saw her. But now, under her hood, it appeared as if she had straight blonde hair the looked stringy and fake, like she was wearing a wig. From what I could see, her face was thin, skin smooth, and she had blue eyes just like before. She was always pretty but I was glad I didn't get many of her traits physically.

Nope. I had my father's brown eyes and his thin lips. I also had black hair like he did and it looked somewhat unusual with how pale my skin was in contrast and how light my brown eyes were. Though my hair was curly like my mother's, mine was thick like my fathers and black. Also unlike my mother's skinny figure, I had a few curves but still had an average figure I guessed. The only thing that I had on my mother's were her small feet and a stubborn attitude.

I was happy I looked nothing like her. But if I did, it would save me from some beatings since she hated that I looked liked my father. And because of it, she would often target those traits I had in common with my father when she decided she wanted to hurt me.

She stood there with her coat on, which was weird since it was the middle of the summer. But she was a weird person. She had her hood hiding her face from most angles accept when she faced me, now after a year. From what I could see of her, she didn't look much different. Her blue eyes that of ice, still holding that hatred for me except it was much stronger than before. But she had that smile on, as if she could convince me she was nice or happy to see me.

She said nothing and neither did I. Now that I saw her, I was still just as scared. But I was more pissed off and I felt somewhat stronger than I was a minute ago for some reason. We stared at each other, unable to speak yet. We just took each other in and all I wanted to do was look away from her ugliness. She was pretty. But to me, she couldn't get any more ugly.

"Ma'am?" I heard a voice that distracted me from her, thank god. Glancing, the both of us, towards the voice, that same woman that told me she was calling my mother was standing there. She held a clipboard in her hand and when Clare looked to her, the woman offered her the board with a piece of paper on it and a pen.

Clare took it, looking at it for a minute before she quickly grabbed the pen and wrote something - most likely her signature. When she finished, she handed the woman the clipboard back. The woman took it with a smile before she approached my cell. Taking a key out of her pocket, she unlocked my cell and swung the squeaky cell door open.

"Thank you," Clare said as the woman left, walking back down the hall and leaving the two of us.

She looked... anxious. Nervous. "You look nice mom," I said gesturing to her blond and fake looking hair. "Nice as in your looks. Not that you were ever a nice person," I said, finally saying something to her.

She said nothing but did something else instead. She quickly walked around the open door of my cell, the sound of her high-heel shoes in action again. She came towards me, coming into my cell and in shock, I watched as she grabbed the fabric of my shirt around my shoulder, pulling me up into a standing position roughly.

"What the--" I stared but she cut me off, grabbing my arm and gripping it really hard, enough for me to try to rip her hand off me.

"Shut up," she growled. "We need to get out of here. Now."

I looked at her hand gripping mine hard. I wasn't the only one shaking I noticed. She was as well. Confusion spreading through me. I mean why was she shaky? I could see myself being a little more intimidating but I highly doubted that was the reason. I wanted to know why she was on edge and why we needed to leave as soon as possible too. She was obviously nervous and anxious and it kind of made me feel a little better, seeing her uncomfortable. Especially when it appeared as if I had nothing to do with her nervous state.

Not a second later, we were moving. With her fist tight around the material of my shirt, she dragged me out of the cell before she let go and started to swiftly walk down the hall, expecting me to follow. But all this - getting caught, her coming to get me, and having her as a mother anyway - made me really angry and that nearly covered up most of my fear.

When she let me go and started walking, I didn't follow like she thought I was. Instead, I watched as she was swiftly walking down the hall as I stood there. She was a couple yards ahead of me, increasing that space with every step.

"Why? Are the cops after you?" I asked loudly down the hall to where she was. I knew the cops weren't after her and she was just hurrying for another reason. But it isn't often I see her nervous like this and I enjoyed that. Immediately after I said that and she stopped, turning back to see I hadn't followed, I continued just as loud so she would worry about someone hearing. "Did the cops finally find my little sister's remains in the--"

She was so quick to strode back to me from where she was and when she got to me, I couldn't finish what I was saying because she cut my loud voice off. Not with words this time but with a feeling against my hip.

Once she got to me, she came close enough to me that I saw a knife pointed at me from where she slightly parted her jacket. That was enough to shut my mouth. She didn't make any large movements with the knife and she didn't let it leave the inside of her coat. She just flashed it enough for me to see, unfortunately. Because if she fully exposed the knife, the cameras on the ceiling above the halls would have caught it. Of course, she knew better.

Under her breath, she said in a hiss, "I told you never to speak of her or the subject! Ever. And you don't even have proof because you don't even know where she is."

That was true. And because of that, it was the only reason I couldn't go to the cops. Besides the fact that I was insane and they wouldn't believe me, it was also because I didn't know what my mother did with her. So therefore, I had nothing to present the cops with.

I stared at her with a scowl. After she said that and I said nothing, she tucked the knife back into the pocket inside her coat. She stepped forward, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulled me forward with her, making me walk down the hall with her at a really fast pace - more like a jog. I wasn't sure why she was in such a hurry to get out of here but when we got out to the dark parking lot, she was still nervous and anxious as she quickly ordered me to get into a car I didn't recognize. I wasn't sure how she was able to afford a new car after I left but I guess she did.

Starting the car immediately after she got in, she pulled out of the parking lot without a word to me. And I really couldn't think of anything to say at the moment because my mind was still in shock. In shock from all that has went wrong in the past few hours. I was still shaking, needing the weed and unsure what to do about that. I figured Mark was still dealing around here but I haven't spoke to him in over a year. I knew he was pissed off at me but I figured he would understand.

He was the person I knew in this town that could really hook you up. All my other friends here went to him when we needed to get high or we just liked getting high with him. I guess I could try going to him tomorrow for some before I leave. After how long we have been friends, I hoped he would maybe just give me weed without charging me for it because I didn't have any money (the last house I robbed which was yesterday didn't have shit worth any money).

I felt something and my mind snapped out of my thought and back to where I was now. What distracted me was that my mother was accelerating at a fast pace now that we were a little ways away from the station now.

"Why the hell are you in a hurry?" I asked. "My guess is that you either are ready to piss your pants or you just aren't use to driving a fairly nice car like this one and just can't handle it."

Looking at her, her hands tight on the wheel with tension, she had a scowl on her face. A moment later though, she lifted one hand off the wheel, moving her fingers up to her head and she pulled her hood back, giving me a better look at the fake blonde hair. Because it was fake, I found out a second later. After her hood was down, her hand played along where her blond stringy bangs were and she gripped it, pulling the hair back and exposing it as a wig. Pulling it off and throwing it behind us in the back seat, she let her familiar brown curly hair fall forward around her shoulders. It was too bad too. Because if she was a blonde now, I could have went after her with dumb blonde jokes just to make her mad and not because I actually meant them. But nope, she seemed to like disappointing me.

"You are only lucky bitch right now, you know that? Otherwise I would have already beat you within an inch of your life!" She yelled.

"Then why haven't you?"

By the time I asked, I didn't realize that we had pulled into our driveway. Looking out the windshield at our house... well, it didn't even look like it did before. Though it was a hard time trying to keep up and pay the bills, it was a really nice house before. But now... it was different. From the bright moon above shinning down as well as the porch light on, I could see the changes. Before I left, this house was pretty with how much scenery surrounded it, the trees and woods around it a pretty view bordering our back yard. And it still was. Except now, the chipped paint on the house was replaced by a new white coat. The second story windows reached my eyes. Looking at my bedroom window, the place I used as my escape from this house and my life, I saw the shutters were painted a pretty dark red over the faded brown that was once there. Also, I could see that along side the house and under the windows, flowers were growing as well as bushes that were scattered among a blanket of small stones.

I'm sure there was more things that were changed or added but since it was dark, I was almost quite positive I missed some things I would have to see in the daylight. But it was enough to make it look like a completely different house. I wondered what the inside would look like. Probably the same cheap junk since I was sure she could only have managed to fix up the outside and not the inside. Not only because we really - or she - didn't have the money for it, but she seems just too damn lazy to do the inside.

But no matter what she did to the house... it didn't matter or change anything. Because it was still the same shit-hole she 'raised' me in. It was still hell whether there were freshly painted walls or not. Because there was not one thing anyone could do to this house that would be able to erase all of the memories and events that have scarred me.

She finally answered the question I forgot I asked. "Just because I haven't yet doesn't mean I wont be doing anything to you. Because I promise you, you will scream with the need for it to stop. And it wont stop, my charming daughter. You will pay through the nose for the shit you caused me," she growled. "But not right now. Because as of now, my husband is probably on his way home. We were lucky we got here first."