*tick tock, tick tock*

I glanced at the clock as I waited for my mother.

“Mom?” I called out, trying to figure out where she was.

“Right here, honey,” she said as she entered the cramped stuffy kitchen. She moved to the back where a small window rested and opened it, letting in the brisk air from outside. With a crooked smile spread across her lightly wrinkled face, she sat, giving  her full attention. I looked up and noticed the scar on her upper left cheek she had since I was younger.

“Mom,” I muttered, pushing the stray hairs out of my face, “I’m scared.”

Her dark brown eyes locked with mine and she responded, “I know”. She scooted closer to me and gently tugged at the scarf covering my neck. As it fell to the ground, the bruises I tried so hard to hide, were exposed.  “Oh honey,” she gasped. I grabbed her, making her hold me like when I was a child. Tears strolled down my face, and we sat, wrapped in one another’s arms.

“Let's go out tonight” she blurted. I hesitated, the idea of going out was enticing, but the risk would not be worth it. “Come on, we will get dolled up and grab a couple of drinks”. Putting my doubt behind me, I slipped into a red turtleneck and a pair of black slacks. I pulled my rusty brown hair back into a bun, smacked on lipstick, and just like that my mother and I were off for our night out.

I strode into the local margarita bar, making sure as I passed a window to fix my already fading lipstick. Taking a seat on the fake, cherry-red, leather stools, a cloud of cigarette smoke engulfed my mother and I while we ordered a few shots. Every sip spread through my body, warming me from the inside out. I finally began to relax, I swayed to light salsa music playing, and let down my hair. All of a sudden, the smoky atmosphere became unbearing, making it hard to breathe. I felt a firm grasp on my delicate shoulder,  and my mother’s laughter stopped. My toes curled when I heard the deep, harsh voice of Hastings.

I looked up to see him glaring at me with his beady blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Me and my mom just wanted to go out, I thought it would be fine,” I whispered, “ how did you know I was here?”

“You have an Iphone stupid” he snapped. My mother stared at him in disbelief and moved her hand to grasp mine. In a hushed voice, she leaned over and told me, “run”.  Hastings, enraged, grabbed my free hand and wrenched me from my seat. He dragged me outside and I lost sight of my mother. His hand clenched the back of my already bruised neck as he pushed me to his old, beat-up truck. Shoving me into the cab, he slammed the door on my foot.  Hastings started his car, and Anthrax’s 1000 Points of Hate started playing, bursting my eardrums. He lit a cigarette, and began driving to our house for what felt like an eternity. The truck came to a halt and I looked outside the tinted windows to see the shack I called home.

Hesitantly, I opened the door and stumbled out onto the cold dark pavement. The old truck stunk of burnt engine oil, and I held my breath. Hastings stomped inside, and slowly, I followed. Moving through the entrance, I searched the scene for Hastings.  Holes were spread around the blank drywall, and the musty red carpet needed to be vacuumed. I heard a shout from the other room.

“You know better, Cecelia!”

“Why am I not allowed to go out?” I asked.

“Because you’re a w****. I don’t trust you enough to leave,” he spat at me.

“No Hastings, I’m not. I love you,” I lied through my teeth. I wanted the fighting to stop, but my efforts were of no avail. He mocked me and threw harsh insults, chipping away at the little confidence I had left.

“ Leave me alone,” I pleaded.
“You’re weak,” he chuckled out. I turned my face away when I saw his club like fist, come torpedoing towards me.

*crack*

My legs fell from under me, causing me to lay flat. Hastings shook his head in disgust, and trudged to the kitchen. Sprawled on the floor, my head began spinning as I tried to figure out what had just happened. I shifted to my feet and felt my left eye with my index finger. My face throbbed. I pushed myself towards the bathroom so I could wash the blood dripping from the split in my cheek. Pulling away the old sheet used as a door, I looked straight ahead. The mirror was covered in little watermarks and smudged fingerprints. Staring back at me was a girl with a black eye and a busted cheek. A single tear fell from my eye as I recognized this girl to be me. A flashback of my childhood ran rampant through my memory, and I remembered the night my father beat my mother, leaving her with a scar. Her and I shared the same crooked smile, the same rich brown eyes, and the same abusive husband. She warned me to run from men like my father, men like Hastings. I looked into the mirror again, and saw my mother returning my gaze.

Limping out of the bathroom, I made my way to the kitchen. There, Hastings sat, chugging a MGD and smoking a square.

I coughed slightly, catching his attention. He glanced at me and chortled out, “well at least you won’t have to wear eyeshadow on that eye.”  Ashamed, I hid my broken face with my hair, and that’s when I spotted the old truck keys, left unattended on the counter. Suddenly, a switch flipped inside of me, with a rush of adrenaline I quickly snatched the keys and tore through the house to the front door. I sprinted outside and heard Hastings shout drunkenly after me. Throwing myself into the truck, my hands shook violently as I stuck the key in the ignition. I shifted gears to drive, and the tires squealed as I smacked the gas with my foot. I drove into the night, with one destination: to run away.  Rolling down my window, I took a deep breath of fresh dusk air, and an overwhelming feeling of bliss came over me. Finally, I was free.