6 chapter five | broken things never stay fixed

I've made it my goal to make my way to new york. I'd like to have a cramped little apartment that's so small you can sit in two rooms at the same time. I'll order out every night. I'll sit in Central Park on the weekends and have little picnics. I'll be stuck in an awful job in a cramped little office and complain about the boss to my co-workers. I'll live a normal, an adorable life. But for now, I'm still driving down this winding road.

Whenever my mom and I baked we would dance all over the kitchen- she tended to stumble more than me, silly mommy. She loved baking way more than cooking. We would make cookies, brownies, and cakes. She always added her secret ingredient, and when daddy came home he would be so proud of us.

I shake my head trying to physically shake this feeling from me. My mind is a dangerous place, it's like walking accost a mind field; it all looks clear, you're walking across flat ground when a second letter your leg is blown off. Your heartbeat is pumping faster, you hear screaming but don't notice it's your screams until it's too late, you're already in a thick puddle of your own blood.

This time it brought me to the last time I tried to bake something. it was for my mom's birthday. I don't seem to have the energy to fight off the memories today. Boom there goes the other leg.

I hear him pull into the garage with a loud bang because He must have hit something. I stand in the corner of the kitchen, trying to hide as best as I could. I pray he can't smell moms birthday cake in the oven. It's the only gift I'm giving her this year. I have grown too old to make her a card and we have stopped giving gifts years ago, the least I can do is make her a cake.

He storms in "come out here bitch". He didn't even wait for her to come down, instead, he climbs up the staircase taking two steps at a time. I'd learned by now to stay out of the way quickly took the cake out of the oven while I still could. I think I was frosting the cake in her favorite color when he came back down half an hour later. He slams down on the table and lits a cigarette. "And what the fuck are you doing?" he asks. The fact that his knuckles are red and bloody doesn't surprise me or go unnoticed.

"B-baking a cake" I whisper.

"For who? That lazy ass whore upstares?" he yells standing up from his seat "she doesn't deserve a damn thing!"

"it's her birthday today," I say stupidly while glancing away from him.

"Did I stutter, that dumb cow doesn't deserve to get anything until I say so!! No one in this house does anything unless I say so!" he says before he grabs the cake from the counter and throws it on the wall behind me. Next, he throws me down on the ground on top of the glass fragments. He then grabbed me by my hair and pins me to the wall "that goes for you too! Don't ever cross me." I try but can't breathe, with is his hand around my neck. My hands instinctively fly to my neck to try to pull his hand away with no success. "Don't ever forget whos in charge here?" he says throwing me to the ground. I catch my break as I protectively curl into the corner.

"i-i'm sorry" I stutter out as I feel a bruise forming around my neck.

"Clean this fucking mess up" he slurs while throwing me one more time against the wall and walked out of the room while I fell down onto the glass.

I can still feel the cuts on my knees from the broken dish.

At this point, I can't see through my tears and have to pull over. As much as I try to wipe my tears away new ones come in their pace and I can no longer hold in the loud sobs. I give up and sit there with my knees to my chest and sob out the pain while tears stain my face. I was already lying in a puddle of my own blood.

Sometimes broken things stay broken. Sometimes you move on and learn to live in a world with one leg.