2. Walking Into Danger (1/1)

the tv blared in the living room as blundering laughter followed an announcers gag. i rolled my eyes not being able to hear myself think let alone concentrate on a paragraph. a thud followed the slamming of the book on my bed. i stood from my sitting position and made my way towards the noise. our dimly lit apartment was filled with the smell of battered chicken being dipped in boiling grease. the grotesque smell always made me sick, the boiling fat and grease crackle, i was repulsed. my parent and step parent, uneducated and welfare stealing, sat watching some comedy show just like every night. they had no verve nor did they have any desire to better themselves and way of living with a job. as long as there was food on the table, no matter how inedible, and a roof over our heads, even though it was falling in, they were ok with it. i cleared my throat and got their attention from sheer annoyance and nothing else.

"what?!" randy, my step father nearly screamed trying to usher me away from the tv with a hand sweep.

"would you mind keeping down in here?" i asked as politely as humanly possible, at least for me anyways.

"just so you can read some book that you don't understand?!" he let out a snicker. "yeah right" he increased the volume.

my temper was to the point of boiling over. insulting my intelligence and laughing at my attempts. i was on the edge now and about to make a very bad and quick tempered mistake.

"at least i'm trying instead of sitting around and stuffing my face, being a disgrace to society" i had overstepped a line there.

i slowly backed up as he rose from his recliner. he walked towards me with a grim look of scorn in his eyes. now towering over me ,we were mere inches away. he raised a single arm tattooed and bulging with the fat accumulated from the byproduct junk they consumed daily. in one swift move his fist made contact with the right side of my face sending me to the floor. i sat back up quickly being used to this abuse. he continued to stare down at me as he loomed.

"that psychologist dream of yours, it's a waste and your nothing but a joke" i nearly froze as he uttered this through heavy jowls.

i could feel a tear or two start welling but left the room before they had a chance to roll softly down my pale cheeks. once in my room i made a resolve. the tears stopped as i began stuffing a back pack full of some clothes and my books. picking up my last volume a paper slipped out and onto the floor. i bent down and picked it up flipping it over to read what was scrawled across it.

dr. harleen quinzel

i laughed a bit. my dream was not a waste, too many hours with my nose in a book for that. i zipped up the zipper after shoving whatever money i could find in the house in. i cracked my only window letting a gust of cool night air in. in seconds i was on and down the fire escape with an eloquent landing on the sidewalk below.

i had taken gymnastics from ages six to fifteen and i was damn good. my actual father used to take me , back when he was still around. when he was alive and well life was good. picnics, family trips and all the love any daughter could ask for. when he died i felt like i had died. my mother was never the nurturing type, quiet and non confrontational. in my entire life we had hardly exchanged words let alone carried on a conversation. when she met her new husband-to-be randy i had hopes, hopes that soon came shattering down around me as he turned out to be an abusive drunk not at all into having a step-daughter.

i continued to ponder as i made my way down sidewalks. it felt as if some kind of weight had been lifted. like the chains of confinement had been

oken as i walked free among the streets. everything felt so good, but unfortunately nothing lasts forever and for me it wasn't about to last more than twenty minutes