Getting Her Back

Chapter 3

Hannah

School was even more stressful than usual. Bradley was in my other two classes and of course he sat next to me in both which caused people to whisper.

I was planning on staying invisible this year, but now that seemed impossible.

I just wanted to get through senior year without any incidents. The whispers had just stopped and now they were starting again.

'Bradley's sitting with the weird girl'

'Didn't they hate each other?'

'I bet she's giving him some.'

At least it wasn't 'the girl who's mom died' anymore. It's like they think I can't hear them. Or maybe they just don't care.

I fucking hate it. I hate it all!

As I walked home from school, it started to rain. Just great. I didn't have an umbrella so I just walked as fast as I could.

By the time I made it through the door, I was soaked through. I was dripping all over the place and my body was wracking with shivers.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

My dad stood in the opening to the kitchen, looking furious.

"YOU'RE GETTING WATER EVERYWHERE YOU IDIOT!"

"I'm sorry," I said meekly, putting my head down in submission. "It was raining and I didn't have an umbrella."

Footsteps echoed across the floor until I was staring at my dad's boots.

I sucked in a breath as his hand swiped across my face. It stung, but I didn't let myself show him he hurt me.

"Get changed and clean this up."

My dad walked away and I scurried up the stairs to get dressed. I threw my wet clothes into the bathroom and dried off quickly before putting a new pair of sweats on.

I ran downstairs to clean up my mess, but I forgot about the water on the stairs and slipped. I landed right on my ass and slid the last few steps down.

I groaned, but when I went to get up, a foot pressed down into my back, keeping me down.

"You are so worthless! Why was I stuck with you?"

The words stung more than any slap, punch, or kick he could throw at me. Because it was my fault I got them.

He was stuck with me. He signed up to be with Mom, not me. And now Mom is gone. And it is all my fault.

The pressure on my back was removed only to be replaced with a kick to the ribs. Tears filled my eyes but I didn't let them fall. That would just make everything worse.

Dad kept kicking me, screaming profanities.

"YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!"

I was lifted by the hair and brought face to face with my dad. My scalp burned.

My dad's fist sailed into my face and he dropped me on the floor.

"Clean up your fucking mess."

He walked away and got himself a beer. Once I heard the fridge door close, I pushed myself up, ignoring the searing pain in my ribs and got some rags. I wiped up the water, making sure not to miss even a drop.

When I was done, I forced my body up the stairs and back to my room. I collapsed down on my mattress and laid there until my body lulled itself into sleep.

It was the last day of eighth grade and I wanted to celebrate, but Dad was busy. He said he had work he couldn't get out of and I told him I understood.

But Mom said we could still celebrate anyways. She asked what I wanted to do and I said I wanted to eat our favorite takeout and watch movies.

"Easy enough," she said with a bright laugh and called in the order.

I was sitting on the couch, texting my friends when Mom came back.

"I'll be back in a little while," she said and gave me a kiss on the head. "I'm very proud of you."

"Mom," I groaned. I rolled my eyes and she laughed before going out to the garage. I heard the car drive away and went back to texting my friends. We were talking about high school next year and what it would be like. Paige was going to join the drama club and Sabrina and Cassie were trying out for cheer. I didn't know what I wanted to do. My friends assured me I'd figure it out though.

They had to go eat dinner after a while and I checked the time. Mom had been gone for an hour. Where was she?

I tried calling her, but she didn't pick up. I tried again but there was still no response.

My stomach started feeling queasy but I told myself that everything was fine and I was just being over dramatic. Mom would walk through the door any minute with our tacos and we would watch our favorite movies.

I watched the door, waiting, but Mom never came. Twenty minutes passed. An hour. Two hours.

I started panicking. I kept calling Mom but she didn't pick up. Dad wasn't picking up either.

I kept trying both of my parents but no one was picking up.

My panic kept building, but I heard the garage go up and I ran to the door. I expected to see my mom, but instead it was Dad. He looked worn out.

"Dad?"

My dad glared at me with hatred filling his eyes. He pushed past me into the house and dropped his briefcase by the door.

"Dad, I don't know where Mom is."

Dad was at the stairs, but at my words he stopped and turned around.

"She's dead. And it's all your fault."

I jolted upright, my heart racing and my skin soaked in sweat.

I ran to the bathroom and threw myself in front of the toilet. I threw up the few contents of my stomach and collapsed on the floor.

This happened every time I had that dream and was reminded of who I really am. A murderer.