To Love Preciado

After a long day with Jaime and the guys, I finally arrived at my house. I walked through the door, it was 11:02, hopefully my father wouldn't notice that I was a couple minutes late. My house was dark and suspiciously quiet. There's always some type of noise, whether it's my father yelling or the living room tv. The house had been lifeless until I reached my parents' room.

The door to their bedroom was open just a crack, a sliver of light seeped through the doorway. I peeked in, finding a scene I'm sadly familiar with. My father had passed out, he was stretched out on the king size bed. My mom sat on the floor at the edge of the bed with her face in her hands, catching each and every tear that had trickled down her cheek. Broken glass and water covered the wooden floor, the room was dismantled.

I opened the door slowly, trying to prevent it from creaking. Not working in my favor, a long screech came from the door hinges. My mom brought her head and her face lit up at the sight of me. She lifted herself up from the glass covered floor and scurried over to me, bringing me into a loving hug. Knowing that she was hurt, I held her in my arms until the weeping ceased.

I love my mother, she means everything to me. Since my dad had turned on us we have had each others backs. Most kids never experience the pain that is brought from watching your own mom get beaten. Most kids have never had to hold their mom until she finally falls asleep. The bond between my mother and I is different from others. We're in this together, we fight the same battle everyday. Sometimes she gets it worse than I, but there's some days I get it pretty bad too. Since I was gone all day, my mom got the beating this time.

I pulled her into the other room, asking her what had happened. Long story short, my father didn't approve of the way she cooked dinner. I inspected her body, discovering incredible bruises covering her arms and legs. A bump had formed on her forehead, a few scratches sat on the surface. Apparently, he broke a vase over her head, that's typical of him. I hate leaving her alone with him, but getting out of the house is necessary for me. Now that Jaime is sort of a part of my world, my mom will probably start seeing less of me and more of my father's fist.

Notes