“You’re always making this house unbearable to live in. Get out of the house.” The blood was rushing from my fingers at such a fast pace, that my fingers were shaking. My head was hot with sweat leaving my head in an awkward position. I struggled to close my ears with all my might: to have nothing to do with what was going on. This is shameful. How can I bear to hear this? My dad was always getting at my mom’s throat for no apparent reason but this time, this time, the argument was heated. Run out of here. Jump out the window. The house was filled with the awful stench of fear, discomfort, and rage. How dare they do this to us? How dare they display such awful behavior? What will happen to me? The screaming noises muffled into a droning sound that pierced my ears. My jaw was clenched as I heard my brother screaming at the top of his lungs. “Get me out of here. Get me out of here.”

I clutched my brother’s hand, punched the door open, and ran at the fastest speed ever. I managed to catch the words, “Why did I marry you? You’re a horrible woman and if you stay here for longer I am going to kick you out.” That’s when I knew it was real. The pinkish cloudy sky taunted me as the trees not quite parallel to our house were swaying and hissing at me. The clouds were inching forward clumped around the haunted house. The breeze circled around me and shoved my icky dandruff hair right in my mouth. I regurgitated a lumpy green glob, and my brother sat there flabbergasted. His teeth were chattering and he looked at me with droopy sad puppy dog eyes. He hugged his knees and rocked himself back and forth back and forth. Many times he lost balance. He shook his head, “Angela, are we the only ones with crazy parents?” I took a deep breath, and squirmed. I winced and sat myself two inches farther away. My dad was clearly dysfunctional again. But it was evidently not the same. His threats weren’t this direct before. I waited. The argument wasn’t yet to be over. My dad didn’t release his anger. He didn’t make his bitter lasting statement. There was a split second of hesitation in the air. That’s when I heard the smack. The house trembled. His footsteps were mercury slamming the ground, and the smack ringed in my ear like a metal block was thrown at her head. What will my dad think of me? I ran up to the door and paused. My feet were shaking and my arms rammed against the wall holding the door up. My indecisiveness was jeopardizing someone’s safety. I sensed a strong tingling sensation around the house. It was that powerful vibration when my dad was deciding. It was never about reflecting on the decision he was about to make but when he was going to do it. That was definitely when she was most vulnerable and couldn’t protect herself. It was now. My dad’s footsteps were a gigantic  army trampling the kitchen floor waiting to pounce on the last piece of rotten meat. My teeth clenched and I was infuriated.  This wasn’t about me anymore and my mom was in danger. “Please somebody save me! Have mercy”, she cried. I couldn’t take it, and I couldn’t bear to see my mom being abused by the man.  I punched the door open leaving my brother clearly lost with his head drooped to the side and frozen with no sign of emotion. He probably passed out, unsurprisingly. With my dad attempting one last blow to my mom’s head to release his anger, my arm was caught in the middle with a big bruise. What if he hurts her again? Her safety comes first before mine. My dad, big and bulky, was an awful load for my fourth grade arms to handle, but that surge of anger that was suppressed inside of me, exploded from within me and my dad lay there flat on the floor. His eyes widened and his mouth opened perplexed and aghast. He couldn’t believe his own daughter would horrifyingly shove him on the floor. I gently pushed my mom to a room and locked it. She was panting and her eyes begging for reassurance a look of confusion and dread on her face. Her legs exhausted dragging herself along. Now wasn’t the time. I took the keys to prevent any chance of my dad opening the door. My dad lay there squirming, rubbing his elbow, probably where he landed first. His eyes stained with the taste of revenge.  I looked my dad in the eye, my heart pounding, and said “You're not what I thought you were.”

Later that day, I opened the door to my room and slammed the door shut. A different perspective wasn’t necessary. I ran up and rammed myself onto the soft bed. I examined my bruise which now turned a disgusting shade of purple. The window was opened with a half moon sneering at our malfunctional broken family. The moon poured into my eyes. My teeth chattered as I squirmed, tossed, and turned. Sleep was the least of my problems. My mind was lost in endless thoughts. I knew he didn’t mean to hit me, but he still had the infuriation to strike my mom knowing that I was right in front of her. My mind was occupied filled with several conclusions for why he would do this to the family. Why did he ever lay his hands on my mom in the first place? This is domestic violence, I thought. This is against the law. Especially in front of us, innocent children caught in a big mess. My body was restless almost like I was possessed. My mind wanted to escape from my body. This strange feeling became uncontrollable once the silhouette of my dad was slowly creeping into my room. Oh no, your life is going to end. Say goodbye to this body. My mind froze as I saw my dad pacing up and down up and down. Why? He was muttering to himself. His speech was incomprehensible, but it seemed like everything he was saying was agitating him and egging him on to do something. He took a deep breath and headed toward my bed in slow steps. With nowhere else to run, I took those big bulky blankets and threw them over my head. “Why did you do that? Did your mom tell you to do that? I know she is a horrible woman. Her parents were horrible. They cheated me. She always fights with me and …”, he said with an exaggerated pained voice which aggravated me immensely. My head jerked forward, I braced myself in an upright position, and my eyes narrowed at the target 10 inches away from me.  “Don’t you realize what you did was wrong? Laying your hands on a woman or anybody for that matter is wrong.” Shocked at my own confidence, I slowly placed my head in the comfy pillow, cuddled up in bed and held on to myself for dear life. “I lost a child that was once mine,” he responded. He stomped off, slamming the door. “This is not my fault, it’s not mine” I cried drowning myself in tears as dejection and melancholy taunted me and tore me apart. But I couldn’t do anything about it.