I hurting and hating each other that they use

I buried myself under the bulky
blanket on my bed, huddled into a tiny ball with my arms wrapped around my
head, and my hysteric mind longing an end to this war. I felt myself trembling
from head to toe in fright as my eyes overflowed with the tears I expected
would have dried hours ago. Drops of perspiration were dripping down my
forehead onto my pillow as I laid a powerless witness to the hellish battle occurring
in the other room. A piercing sound clang from the kitchen, ringing throughout
the house and shaking me to the core as I let out a soft scream of horror only
I could hear. I stuffed my ears with my clammy fingers hoping to restrict the
dreadful sounds of my already mangled mind. Tears saturated my face as I
muttered a silent but hopeless prayer to God. “Please, Lord, make them stop!
Make them stop! I can’t take it anymore”!

Another crash, this time with the
sounds of broken glass vases falling to the wooden floor. Mom yelled at the top
of her lungs, while Dad shouted irrationally. The only thing I knew to do was
press my eyes tightly shut and bite my knuckles to keep myself from shrieking
in misery. “Lord, please make them stop! Make them stop! MAKE THEM STOP”!

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“Zoey get down here right now,” Mom

Easing out of my blanket and slipping
out of my room, I stepped my heavy feet towards the living room simply feeling
even closer to hell. I stuck my head through the doorway, only to witness the
site of sheer destruction.


“Well? Zoey? You heard everything,
right?” Mom roared, adjusting her eyes to me. “You choose which one of us you
want to follow.”

“Who do you choose? Your mom or me?”
Dad snapped, glaring at me.

I stared at them both for a few moments,
and suddenly, a flood of emotions engulfed my veins. Why are they bickering
over me as if I am some trophy to be won? Why do they sound like they expect me
to love one of them more than the other? Are they so fixed on hurting and
hating each other that they use me as the rope in their tug-of-war? Do they
actually care how I feel?

The words that I had boxed up inside
of me for so long jumped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Stop it!
Don’t you guys know you are scaring me!” An awkward silence occupied the room
as Mom and Dad froze, looking at me cynically. My lips began to tremble and my eyes
filled up once more. Without a second thought, I spun around and bolted out the
door, before I could erupt into tears in front of them. As I yanked the door
open and flung myself into the coldness of the night, I heard Mom’s voice, now
contrite, calling hopelessly from the front door.

“Zoey, wait..”

I did not look back. I did not have
anywhere to go. All I needed to do right now was to get out of that house, away
from those awful last five weeks of war. I just ran, blurred by tears, in no
direction. What happened to “home sweet home” or “A happy family sticks
together”? Why were my life and home replaced by living hell? Why did this
happen to us? All I wanted was what everyone else had. I wanted comfort,
comfort in a peaceful home where I did not have to fall asleep to the sound of
horrifying screams and breaking glass. I wanted love, the love every other
child receives daily. What made me different from all the rest? Do I not
deserve it all too?