The dim light cast by the moon of midnight glistened off my eternally stained, metallic friend. As both it and I lay in silence, my house is filled with the screams of a beautiful, young mother who has been bound to this torture by her brusque husband who had fallen victim to the addiction of alcohol. As my quivering hands stay pressed to my aching ears every night, the thick liquid streams down my arms from the brand new wounds that now cover up the scars of previous nights spent alone in my room.

As the sun finally begins to rise the sounds of my parents fighting subside; not all at once, but over an extended period of time. The second the voices die down to my mother's pained weeping and my father's intoxicated snores, my hands rip themselves from my numb ears. At first it takes me a moment to comprehend the severity of this situation, seeing as I had once again shut myself away from the pain that I feel both physically and mentally. Once my head was back on straight, I opened the door to my bedroom and peered out to see only the flashing light of the television making it's way into view. I quickly close my door, shutting myself away until I feel that I am able to speak to my now injured mother.

As I try my damnedest to settle down, I wrap a blanket around my bare shoulders. The friction of the material against my most recent flesh wounds causes a pained gasp to fall out from between my pale lips that have been torn open one time too many by my own clenched teeth. The gross gasp of discomfort quickly fades into the annoying silence of running electronics and my own soft inhales and exhales.

Before I can even shut my heavy eyelids, the alarm goes off in it's overly monotone manner. My numb fingers slowly hit the button to stop the continuous tone once my exhausted mind registers the symbolical sound. Despite my want and need to close my weary eyes and disconnect myself from the harsh reality, my legs lift me up, off the bed, and my fingers let the cloth slip down, caressing my thin frame, until it's back on my bed.

I place pants on my long legs, a shirt to embrace my chest, and a sweatshirt over my marred arms. Once my pale, thin frame is covered, I go to leave. My feet stop in their tracks as I catch the morning rays glistening brightly off my only friend; my one and only switchblade. I stare down at the metallic weapon that is encrusted in dry crimson when I hear the quick tapping of rushed footsteps. Automatically, my hand shoots forward, gripping the open tool in my palm as my bedroom door brusquely flies open. I grimace as the blade sinks into my hand at the audaciousness of the door connecting with the wall.

As my mother explains the escape plan I feel warm liquid run down my folded fingers, dripping onto the hardwood only after losing it's grip on my knuckles. The young woman in front of me is so hysterical that she doesn't seem to notice the pain hidden on my face or the continuous leak of my vital fluid behind my back.

Seconds later, she's running off to her room to gather her clothes and minimal belongings. As she does so I hastily pocket my only source of comfort, wiping up my hand and the splatters of red on the floor before doing the same as my green-eyed mother. I pack my few outfits and treasured items before my mom is dragging me out of the house that held both many good and bad memories for us all.

The one who has raised me randomly pulls me into the vehicle of soft blue and she then quickly starts the engine, driving off to any place that may offer solace.

After falling asleep to the feeling of being in a safe vehicle and not having to go to school the next day, I was blessed with surprisingly good dreams for once in my hellish life. This slumber somehow brings forth a beautiful warmth in my chest and causes a rare, upward curve of my lips. My mother must have noticed my soft smile due to her commenting to herself on my uncommon expression.

"I haven't seen that smile in a while," she giggled softly, not caring if my state was still one of the unconscious or one of the awake and living. "I was truly beginning to worry," she let out a sigh of relief before continuing her rambling. After a while I quit the charades, noticing that our car had come to a long, final stop. My eyes flickered opened slowly, connecting with the old building with disgustingly rusty, metal steps, and ancient, graffiti-ed brick.

"Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?" Her tone was soft and genuinely sincere as she gently brushed my overgrown bangs out of my eyes.

"I guess," I shrugged my heavy shoulders, staring at the rundown building.

At my words, my mother gave me a quick-to-fade, bruised and broken, smile. "He didn't get the chance to lay a hand on you, did he?" She asked, head tilted down, brown hair messily falling in front of her bruised face, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.

Cold chills run down my back, forcing a shocked jump out of me at the question. At the mention of father's abuse my hands instinctively move to cover the already clothed bruises and wounds.

"Oh...baby no! I-i'm so sorry! This is all my fault!" Tears filled her eyes as she pulled me into her bosom, her collarbone already turning shades of purple and yellow in front of my eyes.

As my mother cried into my hair, I let tears escape my foreign-painted eyes, head still against her chest. For once I wasn't judged for letting the tears caress my cheeks and fall from my chin. Due to finally gaining some comfort, we both held each other tightly as we wept away the pain that had accumulated over the malevolent years.

Rain clouds filled the darkening sky as we finally headed out of the vehicle. Before we grabbed our luggage my mother decided to get the key from the landlady. I waited by our 1992 Buick while my mother spoke to the woman about the possible two-room apartment.

When the young brunette came sulking back to the vehicle, I immediately knew to plan for the worst.

"M-mother?" My voice help a saccharine tone.

"Get back in the vehicle before it rains," she sighed, voice broken. "We'll have to find another complex before the storm hits." Carla moved past me, opening the driver's side door and shutting herself in the warmth of the enclosed vehicle. I quickly follow, pulling myself into the passenger seat. We searched for an open apartment room that we could afford, but came up empty handed; most too expensive, others just unsuitable for a young mother and her 16-year old son. After failing multiple times, we were bound in a parking lot by the insanely heavy rain. As liquid poured forth from the grey skies, the lightning flashed, thunder roared, and floods formed. The two of us swiftly fell asleep to the incessant pitter-patter of the monstrous raindrops against the practically ancient vehicle.

A new day is usually what one would consider a new beginning, a restart if you may, however my mother and I couldn't simply redo things because we were eternally stuck in an endless downward spiral that was eternally irreversible. Not only did we fail to find an apartment and end up sleeping in a seemingly prehistoric car while we barely made it through a flash flood, but now we were slinking back to the drunken abusive man that dares to call himself my father. Damn did life hate me right now.

Our Buick rolled up to the front of our decent sized, tan brick house. Mother and I hesitantly sauntered out, regretting our loss of locating a liveable housing unit. I quietly unlocked the front door, slowly pushing it open to reveal a clean living space, some bottles located sporadically throughout the room. I gathered my strength and tip-toed in, finding my father at the end of our simple kitchen table, fingers intertwined, knuckles white from a firm grip, and grief filling the confines of his face.

My mother gently patted my shoulder before moving past me towards my teary-eyed, dick-of-a-father. I quickly shot my dominant hand out towards the soft-hearted brunette but my father's eyes were on her before I had the chance to save her from the oncoming hell of devious lies and false pleas of forgiveness.

"Oh, Carla!" My father jumped up from his wooden chair, wrapping his arms around my mother. I felt my knuckles clench tightly in anger. If the long-haired, glasses-wearing abuser turned against my kind mother, my fists would fly without hesitation.

"Grisha, you realize the pain you have dealt upon us, correct?" Her voice was sincerely soft as she stood stiffly wrapped in the man's arms.

"I-i don't know what's happened to me! Work became stressful after the patient didn't make it and then I began to rely on alcohol to take the pain of my self-incrimination away." He now held my mother away, arms gripping her petite shoulders. "Please forgive me Carla! I truly am repenting for the sin of laying a hand on my wife; not once, but on multiple occasions!" He spoke, wiping tears from his eyelids that hid behind his old-fashioned glasses.

"Grisha, you better not be lying or I will leave with our son even if we're forced to take all the money and run." She spoke, clearly deceived by his false apologies.

"I have no reason to lie to the one that I truly love!" His fingers were now roughly grasping his stained button-up just above where the human heart is embedded into the body. My caribbean eyes could see through his words and I knew just how damned my life truly was.

To show that my father was serious about the end of his alcohol addiction and abuse, he had us all move to a house, claiming the transfer to be our 'New Beginning'. We chose a simple, three bedroom house in the neighboring city of Maria Grove. I would now be attending their famous school, Sina High, as a junior. To make matters worse for me, Sina was a very stuck up school due to their genius academic scores, unstoppable athletic records, and generous benefactors. Despite the rich community, we managed to buy our little yellow house in a quiet, middle class chunk, just near the outskirts of Maria Grove. Hopefully my life wasn't totally ruined by my father's so-called 'Change of Heart'.