Scars

The door slams shut,
and the chilling winter wind behind me rustles my hair,
making it blow every which way.
She walks down the stairs with tear stained cheeks,
looks at me,
and tosses hurtful words.
Ignoring the following sentences,
I turn to walk through the kitchen and down the hallway to my room.
"A short distance. Not long at all," I thought to myself.
From the front door,
she follows to point out my every mistake
when she can't even face her own.
Escaping the stress of it all,
I close the door for silence.
A sigh of relief.
With my back facing the cold wooden door,
I drop my head into my arms.
"Finally," I mumble.

At that same moment,
he's down on hands and knees searching for the planner and phone she had earlier hidden.
I go out to help him,
though I only end up looking for answers to questions that I had never quite understood.
The fact that this wasn't love at all.
Why would anyone intentionally want to hurt the one they supposedly couldn't live without?
Flashbacks of my childhood come back to me.
A mother with the desire for complete control,
and a father that lost his temper whenever he found a moment to pull away from work to see the family that he never really took the time to know.
Faded days,
but the scars still remain.
The ones that I count every now and then
are not always the ones you can see.