I walk up the stairs thinking of what play list to listen to as I do the dishes. Old school Rap? New school hip-hop? Corny pop? I choose the first play list on the list: Hard Core Raps. My little sister runs up behind me and babbles about what Brenda and Jamie did at daycare, and she doesn’t seem to notice my ear phones until I turn away to the kitchen. I hear her mumble about telling Mommy that I’m not listening to her but I couldn’t care less what she tells her.

I’m done.

I turn to the sink and begin scrubbing, imaging living alone without all of this drama. I scrub harder as I remember all the words her and I shared today. The hate that left her mouth; the indifference and hurt that left mine. I absorb the lyrics as they leave the ear phone and rampage through my head, picturing the words tearing my brain apart, leaving only anger and motivation to fuel me.

Stop.

Drop.

Shut ‘em down, open up shop.

Oh!

Whoa!

That’s how Ruff Riders roll!

When the song ends I can feel the beat still, the meaning behind every word, every syllable is carved in my brain. I want more. I need more of the anger and thoughts he gives me. I have a craving for what he gives, and I press replay.

All that matters right now is him. His voice. His beat. Him. I know that when she calls for me again, when she bellows my name, I will lose all of this power. So I cherish the moments I have away from the beast, I whisper the words and force myself to remember.
And she calls.