She shakes in her bed. The sheets are stained with anger and tears no one was there to catch. She clenches her teeth, trying to hold it all in. But the anger and hate is newly born. The strength is too much to hold in.
"God dammit!" she screeches into her pillow. It amazes her what a cussword can do.
She takes pity on the bruised pillow and lightly fluffs it back into place. But the anger is still there-aging slowly. It will be a while before it completely dies.
She hates her. Hates her for not understanding and for being a mother. She hates her for becoming more and more like him with every day he's here. She hates her stepfather.
An idea dawns upon her. But just as soon as it comes, it goes. She shoves it into a box that says "DROP IT AS MANY TIMES AS YOU'D LIKE". Cutting is not something she wants to start.
She has a plan of starting over once she moves out. She doesn't want scars to remember her broken childhood.
The girl wants her mother. She wants her mother to come up stairs and say sorry for once. She wants a "Goodnight". She wants to hit her, but hug her at the same time. She wants to be the one accepting the apology. But she knows that won't happen. Not tonight or any other night.
From her bed, she can only see a tree out her window. The branches embrace the front of the house, blocking the view. But the tree gives her hope. If the tree can grow, so can I. She knows this is false hope, but it's something to hold onto in a time of need. It's something.