The pain must have been unbearable. It had gotten to the point where it was forcing me to look away and cover my ears, protecting them from the almost inhuman screeches emitting from my mother and the sight of my father's fist slamming down onto her. I could smell the putrid smell of blood mixed with sweat and other fluids triggered my gag reflex, I held it back though, to my amazement. I remained completely frozen trying to block out the sights, smells, and sounds of her agony.
There was nothing I could do to ease her pain or save her. My father was a large man, almost bear-like in appearance and strength.
I just wanted it to stop. I wanted him to stop hitting her…but, also, I wanted my mom to stop screaming. I longingly wished for her to black out or faint or something. I know that is a selfish thing to want, but it had been going on for a long time with no breaks in between blows. I lost track of time.
To this day, her horribly maimed, bloody face still haunts my memories and dreams.
I stole a glance at her; she still busted out those cat-like shrieks accompanying the look of the yellow-purple bruised face. She was not even distinguishable as my mother at that point. Somehow, I was able to pick up something in her incoherent hollering.
"Guh…M-Mi…MIK…grg…MIKUgh…GHR!" Mother gargled, blood unmistakably forcing its way out of her mouth, making her choke on her words.
I wanted to run to her, to tear my father off her. However, fear forced me to remain huddled in the corner of the living room, whispering words of encouragement to myself rather than her.
"I-It's ok…She-she'll…survive…its fine…don't panic."
The fact that I was only comforting myself might make you sick, but I could not help it. I couldn't bring myself to move…
When I looked back at my mother, what was left of my mother was a bloody carcass of a human, her face torn and bruised. I fought the urge to throw up.
Death was the merciful option, even if my mother was most likely begging for her life behind her pain-filled moans...and that is exactly what happened. As if on cue, my mother stopped screeching, leaving a chilling silence that made my spine tingle.
My father let out a shocked gasp, snapping out of his drunken trance. He stared wordlessly at his own broken knuckles to my mother's also very broken face. He jumped up from his position of hovering over my mother, and stumbled out of the room and out the front door.
After what seemed like hours, I crawled on all fours to check on her. I felt blood soak through the legs of my sweatpants, but I did not really care. I pressed my ear to my mother's no- longer-hacking chest. Nothing.
My whole body shook, convulsing with shivers. I brought a hand to my mouth to suppress my cries. Warm tears flowed down my cheeks and into my mouth, the taste of salt assaulting my taste buds. I began chanting 'mom' repeatedly behind my hand. I could not believe I let this happen. I stared at her face, devoid of anything remotely human-like, her teal hair matted to her forehead from the blood. She had…soiled herself before she died. She had also…thrown up…a bit…It was leaking out of her mouth. The smell of alcohol was also among the other smells. The mixed smells were powerful.
I ignored everything. The sounds of sirens outside of my house. The blue and red lights illuminating my mother's face in an all-new horrifying light. The hands on my shoulder pulling me to my feet. The voices asking me questions repeatedly. All that mattered was that my mom was dead…and I was the most disgusting and pathetic person in the world.
Apparently a neighbor had hear my mother's outbursts and phoned the police. This, for me, was shocking, because they never even bothered to help before when my father had inflicted pain on my mother and me for meaningless things such as getting in his way or not noticing him when he entered a room. However, this situation was a lot more serious than simple slaps across the face. My father had beaten my mother to death.
I had told the police what happened after I had somewhat recovered from the shock enough to mumble. Surprisingly, they believed me and promised they would find my father. In the meantime, I would remain in the custody of my older brother, Mikuo.
My family…disowned Mikuo. My father kicked him out when my brother dared to announce his sexuality as a homosexual to him. After that, my father started drinking and using violence to cope with losing his only son. What got to me though…was that my brother just…left after causing such a stir. He did not take my mother or me with him. He abandoned us with my father. My mother was a weak person to begin with, so it was not as if I could sneak away with her to a hotel or something.
I understood why he left, but I couldn't help feeling nothing but hatred towards him. Therefore, when he had picked me up at the police station, I didn't dare look him in the eyes.
Before we left, an officer suggested I take therapy and be put on suicide watch…Just in case. To be honest, I did not consider suicide an option. I was sick with myself, but…I didn't quite feel the need to end my life...Not yet anyway. It was painful…but…we'll see what happens. If I'm unable stand it anymore...then…maybe.
My brother drove me to his apartment, which took roughly two hours. Neither of us spoke. I could feel him cast pitying glances my way and anger ignited in me. I should have been happy that he looked somewhat regretful, but he didn't even look remotely sad after finding out what happened to our mother. I should have been glad that he was nice enough to take me into his care, but I was just an obligation. I doubt he did it purely because he missed his little sister and had wanted to take care of a 16 year old. Despite what the officers and Mikuo thought, I could take care of myself perfectly fine. I have been doing it ever since my brother left, my mother being too sick and frail to care for me.
I thought of my mother again…her face…I fought back tears and bit my lip to hold back the sob.
My brother interrupted my thoughts by stopping the car.
"We're here." Mikuo announced, pulling his keys out of the ignition.
I stared outside my window; we were in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It was gray, dark, uninteresting apartment complex. Well…It wasn't like I expected Mikuo to be living a thriving happy-go-lucky life, but even this was a bit…depressing. Nevertheless, I still didn't feel bad for him. No matter what horrid experiences I expected he had from living alone, I couldn't bring myself to feel anything towards him.
Mikuo grabbed the luggage that the officers had collected for me, because I was not quite in the right state of mind, and marched up the stairway to his door. I opened the car door and followed suit, not bothering to listen to Mikuo as he babbled about getting me into a nearby high school after I have recovered and promising to get me more possessions, simply because I did not have many valuables to begin with.
When my brother opened the door to his apartment, a flash of red greeted us. A tall man with red hair stood in front of us. Akaito. He must have been getting ready to leave.
Scratch that about living alone. Akaito was my brother's boyfriend. I knew of him. My brother spoke of him a lot to me before he had left, but I never have met him in person, until now.
Akaito stood there awkwardly, fidgeting slightly before he spoke, "This must be your sister?" His question directed to his boyfriend.
"That should be obvious." Mikuo responded with a slight smile. It really was extremely obvious; we both had the same color hair, eyes, and same features.
A blush crept onto Akaito's face. "Right…" He turned to me, the corners of his lips pulling into a grin. "It's nice to finally meet you Miku."
I shot a skeptical look at the man that had indirectly torn my family apart. I nodded slightly, mumbling, "You too," under my breath.
Akaito stood there for a few more seconds, before he allowed us to push past him. "I'm going out for cigarettes, do you two want anything?"
The both of them shifted their gazes to me, as I took in their living conditions. We were standing in a drab living room. The only furniture in the room was a worn couch, and a small TV that was displaying the weather forecast. I almost missed a small kitchenette off to my right. It only had a fridge, stove, and a few cabinets and counters…Oh, and a microwave, but that was really it.
I shook my head, finally answering Akaito's question. With that, he left, leaving me with Mikuo.
"We don't have an extra room…but this couch…" Mikuo swatted the cushions off the couch and tugged at random parts of the couch, until; finally, it extended into a bed. "…will do just fine…I think." Mikuo straightened his back, "And…we might still have some extra blankets and pillows for you to use." He opened a door to a closet and tossed two pillows, a large, cream-colored comforter, and white sheets.
I nodded for the nth time, and rustled my luggage around for different clothes…My current ones had blood stains. I changed and the bathroom and then returned to the living room. I made the bed. I crawled all over it to be able to situate the sheets so that they would not slide off when I put the comforter over it. I gave up with a sigh as the sheets sagged to the ground.
"I-I'm…just…I'll just…rest." I managed to croak, letting my head hit the pillows. This of course was a lie, there was no way I could sleep after what happened today…My mother's lifeless…'face', if you could even call it that, seared into my mind. I shuttered, feeling tears threaten to escape my eyes. I could not let Mikuo to see my face, so I shoved it into the pillow.
"Alright, see you in the morning, Miku." I heard him whisper.
I sent him no signs of acknowledgement that I had heard him.
A cold dread settled over me. The weight of what had happened hitting me like an oncoming truck. I couldn't breathe correctly. Haggard breathes were smothered by the pillow my face was pressed against. No doubt, my brother could see my choked sobs, but he didn't do anything about it…and I didn't want him to. My body shuddered and convulsed to the point where the bed squeaked underneath me from the shaking. There was a drilling pain in my temples and I felt nauseous.
…This went on for the whole night…no exaggeration.
The blood…The screams…The sounds of bones breaking…The smell…
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, mother.
AN: Sorry if this seemed to drag on. I am a bit rusty when it comes to writing sob stories. I hope you like it regardless.