Your Room

August 16, 2008
By Amy Watson, Glossop, ZZ

I stand in your room, all alone, no one standing next to me. Alone. Frightened. That must be how you must have felt when it happened. It was terrible. The way your father treated you. Like dirt. Like you didn’t exist. I don’t know how it feels to be ignored. He always gave me attention and ignored you.

The walls in your room are plastered in posters, suffocating the paint underneath. Pictures of your idols, you favourite bands. I stand and look at them, how can you like this? They look like they are going to a fancy dress party, who wares these clothes regularly? Who wares them at all? You used to put on a CD and turn it up to full volume, just to get some attention from him. He would storm up these stairs, thud, thud, thud. As if he was on a mission. Why did you provoke him? You just made it worse for yourself.

The last time I heard that repulsive music was the last time I saw you. He came home late; he had been drinking with his friends again. He seemed to do it more frequent, was that because of you? You had your music blaring out of your speakers, full volume as usual. As soon as he walked though the door he shouted at you to stop, why didn’t you? He was giving you attention, but not enough apparently.

He marched up the stairs, thud, thud, thud. That was the warning for you to stop the noise. But you didn’t. You ignored him, like he always did to you. He broke though the door which you had locked. Tore it off the hinges. He ripped the speakers out of the wall and threw them at the wall and screamed at you. Hit you. Again and again. Over and over until I stopped him. He was strong but I managed to stop him.

You were in a bloodied heap on the floor. Whimpering like an animal. A pathetic sight. But I still loved you and hated what he did. He stormed off downstairs. Thud, thud, thud, bang. He’s out the door. I know you are thinking, why? Why did he ignore you? Why did I marry the man in the first place? I refuse to answer the questions you fire at me. Why? You scream at me. Even though you are physically weakened by the beating, which I am sure is not the first one; you still have a spark inside of you. It will never go out. That little spark. You will never be broken.

I try to comfort you but you push me away forcefully. You scream and shout, raking your hands though your short dyed hair. Another thing he hated. Why do you have to provoke him so much? He told you not to cut your hair. He shouted at you when you did it. He probably beat you too. I’m not sure, I wasn’t there. I was there when you came home and dyed your hair. Multicoloured. Why? It annoyed him even further. I know you did it for his attention. His love. He never gave it. He despised you for needing it.

You rip out your drawers and scream. Throwing your possessions around the room. Crash. Bang. The noise is deafening. You scream at me again and again. Why? Why didn’t he love you? Still, I refuse to answer. I watched as you destroyed you room. The colours in you hair shining like a beacon. A beacon asking for help. Any help. Help to escape. Escape the nightmare you have to live with. Terror. Pain. You must be feeling. Terror. Afraid of another beating, worse than the previous one. Always worse. You are his punching bag. His stress ball. He despises you, hates you. Wishes you were dead. You feel the same for him. You hate him, he ignores you. Pain. He beat you. Maybe more than just once. I don’t know. He never talks about you. As if you don’t exist.

You are gone now. He has not returned either. You both went separate ways. Him to get away from the stress and anger he lets loose. You to get away from being ignored. Here I stand, in your room. I lie on your bed, looking at the ceiling. Thinking about both of you. I think about you more. Do you like that? I don’t ignore you. Come back to me. Don’t make me beg. Call me. Send me a letter. Anything.

I put up posters. Of you, not him. Just you. I need you back. You are my life. Why did you go? You didn’t have to leave. Come back. I wish you would come back. But you won’t.

You walked away. You hate him. You wanted attention, he gave you nothing. You provoked him; he gave you presents of fists. Hard, fast, painful. Pain. Blood. You couldn’t stop him; he was too strong for you. Too strong for most people his age. He went to the gym regularly, to get stronger, so if you annoyed him again the punishment would hurt more.

Your blood still stains the carpet in your room. I can see if from where I am. I have sat up now; I am no longer lying down. Red. Blood. Pain. You must have been terrified. He beat you. Punch. Thud. Like you were not living, as if you were dead. The blood will not come out. I feel like Macbeth. As if I cannot wash your blood from my hands. I have tried everything to get rid of that red stain. Nothing works. It is a permanent reminder of what he has done.

Why won’t you come back to me? He has gone; I haven’t seen him since you left. Come back. I need you. You make my life worth living. Knowing that I had created my own. That it was happy. Not you. You are the opposite. I created you and you hated him. He didn’t give you any attention. His attention was reserved for his friends and me. None left for you. You tried to get it. He lifted it out of your grasp.

Your blood stares me in the face. A reminder that will never fade. Always that strong red colour. Never fading. Never going away. I can not get rid of it. Every time I walk past your room it stared me in the face. If I shut the door I can still see it in my mind’s eye. Always there. Blood red mist. Never fading.

Nothing removes it. It never goes away. He created it. I cannot remove it. You walked away. As did he. What must I do? I am lost, I cannot think properly. Help me. Return. I need you. Please. Come back. I am broken. Only you can fix me. Put me back together again.

Please. Fix me. Return to me. He is gone. Hopefully never to return. I can’t guarantee that. He might come back. Come back to me, I need you. I can’t live without you. I created you. I will give you the attention you need. He ignored you, I will not. Help me and I will help you. Come home. Please. I need you.

Why? Come back. I need you to fix me. You broke me when you went. Come back and fix me. Please. Help. He won’t hurt you. He is not here. He has gone to. Taken off like a flock of doves. More like a flock of devils. You took off in a storm of hate. You screamed at me, then ran. You broke me and did not look back at the damage you did. You shattered my heart. I picked up the pieces and placed them in a box. My box. I am waiting for you to return so you can fix it

Come back to me. He has gone. Gone for good. I hope. Come back and fix me shattered heart. Fix it so I can live again. So I can live with you. Forever. He will not hurt you again. He cannot hurt you. He walked away. You walked away. I need you back. Not him. Just you. Come back to me. My creation. Return to me. Please.

I need you. Return to me. Please. I’m begging you. Return. Fix my shattered heart. I need it. Please. I need you. Come back to me. I’m starting to fade away, unlike the red stain. I am starting to fade. Away from life. Towards death. My life has spiralled downwards since you left. Come back, before I am gone. Return to me.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Mar. 7 2009 at 5:49 pm
Author_ConstantineSeries GOLD, Richmond, Texas
12 articles 5 photos 14 comments

Favorite Quote:
“Reading without thinking is nothing, for a book is less important for what it says than for what it makes you think.”

I LOVE IT. I'd have thought that so many short snappy sentences would make it sound awful or boring, but somehow it really works with this story, it shows how pained she is, so pained that she can't even form full sentences, it also adds to the tension, and makes it seem like it'll never end, i really love it, you have talent, keep writing!


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