The door swung back with such a force that it hit against my bedroom wall. My irregular breathing pattern came to a halt all together as her foot came at me, colliding with my abdomen, winding me before she turned to leave.
In that moment, something inside of me snapped. Before I could comprehend what I was doing, I lurched forward, swung around the door frame and gripped her right arm in one hand and her mass of dark curls in the other. I began to pull her, push her. I handled her as if she was a ragdoll. It was all a blur; I only remember screaming out “Don’t lay a hand on me!” before she lost her footing and went down the stairs on her ass.
She was crying. I was crying.
I hadn’t realised it until that moment, but the sobs were pulsing throughout my body, the shakes uncontrollable.
The looks of horror came from every angle- The pristine goody two-shoes that kept herself to herself and hated confrontation had evaporated in a mist of anger, hatred and unbalance. After years of taking the hits, being walked all over and being treated like absolute shit, I finally let go.
All of the anger, all of the frustration, all those times I bit my tongue and kept my head low to prevent aggravation. The years I spent bending over backwards to be the ‘perfect’ daughter, or the ‘perfect’ student, just exploded from my soul, painting the walls black. Tearing apart every ounce of the façade I had worked my whole life to build, leaving me naked, but not vulnerable.