the bruise on my neck

I went out last night. A Thursday night. I wasn't supposed to go anywhere, but I needed to escape. He picked me up outside my house; he's so nice, so smart, so interesting. We smoked weed in his car for an hour, talking about life's ups and downs and everything in between. We traded stories and laughs while we took hits of the beautiful euphoria. The stress and depression melted away like an ice pop on a scorching summer day. He was all I wanted in that moment. I knew my parents would not be happy when I returned home later on, so I smoked more and more until life felt tolerable. He made my night and maybe saved my life at the same time without even knowing that. Before he picked me up I had been writing yet another draft of the suicide note I was planning on putting to use with a little help from the bottle of sleeping pills in my dresser. But he sent me a text and gave me some hope. And as we sat in his hazy car, slowly smoking life away, I felt as if I had a purpose. I wanted him. I wanted to talk to him forever. I wanted to be with him everyday and every night and every second in between. The herb we had been smoking didn't have any impact on how I felt about him, it only helped me be myself for him. Each time I see him my feelings grow stronger and I think about all the time we've spent together and every word we've ever shared. Sitting in that car in the darkness of the neighborhood we were immersed in, I wanted him to be with me. I wanted him to myself and to tell him all my secrets and fears. But I couldn't. I had to go home before I got the courage to tell him something that haunts me. We said our goodbyes and I cherished his warm embrace before I had to face the fire that was waiting for me behind my front door. I was scared and anxious and panic-stricken, but I had to face my parents. I knocked on the hard, dark wood of the old front door and heard the loud foot steps from inside. And there she was, anger-ridden and terrifying. "WHERE IN THE FUCK WERE YOU?! ARE YOU HIGH?!". I walked up the stairs to my room that has the absence of a door and lay down on my bed, bombarded with screaming questions from my mother. And I thought I could handle it, until my father decided to join in too. Except for the first time in awhile, he wasn't just yelling. His fists were all the sudden pounding into my skull over and over and my head throbbed as I screamed from terror. I immediately went into a flashback (PTSD, awesome, huh?). I tried to hide my head under a pillow, but it was being ripped off along with my hair. My mom's nails dug into my scalp and she was pulling and pulling and yelling and spit was flying from her lips all over my tear and blood smeared face. As she threw me down it was dad's turn again, his hands flying towards my head again. And after several blows to the head, he pinched the muscle between my neck and my shoulder and let down a vigorous shot to my back, closer to my spine. And I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself as best I could, hyperventilating and crying and bleeding. I tried to tune out their harsh screams of insults and abuse but they just kept going. I was wishing that I'd never come back through that door. All of the sudden, my father had his hand tightly gripped around my throat, screaming that he wanted and was going to kill me. I tried and tried to push him and kick him off of me but nothing worked. And as soon as the world started to go black, he released, probably realizing that he did not want to go to jail for murder. Then they both stripped me of every piece of clothing on my body, searching for anything they could possibly find. I slid to the floor, covering my head with a pillow and curling tightly into the most protective position my body would allow me to be in. He jerked his fists towards my face over and over without actually hitting me, just terrorizing me. And when the yelling and screaming turned into pissed off name calling, they gathered up my blankets and told me I was sleeping on the floor in their room. The insults continued until mid-night, two hours after I'd returned. My head was throbbing and aching and I couldn't stop crying or breathe or anything. I wanted to die, right then and there. And when I could feel precious sleep starting to wash over me, I'd hoping I'd fall into a coma or die or something so I wouldn't have to wake up. I don't remember dreaming. I woke up to more yelling and fighting and my mom sprayed me in the eyes with vinegar. It stung and hurt so bad and I wanted to run away so bad, but I'm still here. My head aches and the bruise on my neck pulses with every unsteady heart beat. But he never left my mind. He was my motivation. I knew that some how I had to make it through all the horrors of my parents' beatings and threats and hurtful words so that I could see him again. And this weekend, stuck with only the people I'm most afraid of, I'll be thinking of him, trying to make it through to Monday so I can see him at school. I never meant to fall for him, but for now, I guess I just go with it. The bruises will heal and the tears will dry and I will be okay eventually. I am strong. I am loved. I will love freely.