Author's Note
Now, I'm sure you've seen the tags and read the content warnings, but I have one extra little thing to say before you read - this story is in no way inspired by real events that I myself have been through, but it is a story we have all heard before, many of us from someone we know. It's shown on TV, in movies and in other works of fiction like this, but even that pales to the reality. I guess my point to writing this is yes, I the author am safe, and to anyone in an abusive relationship or knows someone in one, try and seek help if you can.
What Is Home?
Home.
Home is not always a place, there are many who argue that ‘home’ is a feeling, or even a person.
Home was supposed to be safety, warmth and security.
Sunset Shimmer did not want to go home.
She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her as she walked from the bus stop home.
It was hard to tell what made a place ‘home’.
A door opened across the street and a woman leaned out, calling out a couple names. Children responded, running towards their mother and inside for dinner.
Was the safety of someone who cared ‘home’?
Sunset paused on the sidewalk to let a car pull into their driveway. The driver was young and there were boxes piled in the back, the bumper littered with university stickers. A student returning home from the hustle and bustle of school, to a family that would smother them with love and pride.
Was this warm feeling ‘home’?
Further down the street, a young woman got out of her car, and Sunset could see her scrunched up shoulders, tense with stress. She wearily walked up to the door of her house, and a loud, excited barking became clearer as the woman opened the door and was tackled by a large fluffy dog. The woman laughed, and now, Sunset could see her shoulders relax as she pet her dog and went inside.
Was the security of knowing that, no matter how hard the day was, there was someone waiting ‘home’?
She had known a home like these, once. The gentle smile of a mother, the proud grin of a brother, and the soft feel of fur under her fingers.
A quick glance at her phone told her she had 2 minutes to be inside her current ‘home’.
She quickened her pace, almost running now. If only she hadn’t stopped at the bus stop, or paused to let that student park.
He gave her a strict schedule and she needed to stick to it. Now was not the time for flights of fancy; she only had time to get home before he got worried.
She bounded up the stairs to the front door, hand outstretched to grab it…
But she was too late.
The door swung open.
She stumbled to a stop, panting, shaking, with tears pricking her eyes as stuttered pleas dripped from her lips.
He didn’t say anything and she gulped. The quieter he was, the angrier he was, and the more makeup she’d had to put on the next day.
He stepped to the side and she obediently stepped in, the cowering lamb led by the sneering lion.
The door closed and she tried once more to beg for some mercy, she didn’t mean to be late, the bus had an extra stop, she wasn’t trying to-
Her words were cut off by a hand in her hair, followed by the familiar, weightless feeling of being thrown like a rag doll.
Then came the kicks that, even as she curled up into a pathetic ball, came without mercy. Through her arms she saw glinting flashes of the steel toe that rained down the punishing blows.
She could barely breathe, for every time her lungs filled he would land another kick in her stomach and force it all out again.
Her head swam and darkness began to creep over her vision, her mouth filled with the bitter metal of her own blood.
She sputtered weakly as she was picked up by her hair again, flinching as he delicately stroked her cheek, right over the bruise from three days ago when she dropped a glass of water.
“You know I don’t like to do this, I worry about you Sunny. It’s a dangerous world out there, I just want to make sure you are safe.”
Then you would give me back my car keys so I didn’t have to take the faulty bus system.
Sunset didn’t voice her thoughts, instead she smiled, the dainty, submissive smile she knew he liked. “I, I know. I’m sorry to worry you, I, I won’t do it again.”
“Good girl.”
He finally released her and she sank to the floor, wiping her mouth and taking in shallow breaths. He grunted and started upstairs, stating that he was giving her five minutes to make herself presentable.
She hid her weak chuckle until he was fully upstairs and dug into her pocket, thankful he hadn’t frisked her this time.
She crawled towards the kitchen, towards the beautiful gas stove that her boyfriend was gracious enough to allow her for cooking.
A giggle bubbled from her lips.
Home is not always a place. There are those who argue that home is a feeling or a person.
She reached up and turned on the gas.
Home was safety, warmth and security.
Her other hand closed around the matches she found on the ground by the bus stop.
She didn’t know what had drawn her eye to the ground, towards a napkin that, when lifted, revealed the small box. She wasn’t sure why she held her breath as she opened it, only to let out a gasp at the sight of three, perfect little matches nestled inside. At the time, she didn’t know why she then stuck it in her pocket.
But she knew now.
She coughed, starting to get lightheaded from the smell of gas. Just a little bit longer and she would finally be going to a place she could call home. She wondered what it would be like.
It would certainly be warm, sure, but what of the safety and security she craved?
Would her brother be waiting for her, arms open and ready to hug her, hand ready to ruffle her hair like he always did before she went out?
Would she see her mom, holding a plate of her decadent chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven and just waiting to be devoured?
Would there be a quiet purr, just louder than the tiny bell on a collar as her tabby OJ sprinted up, begging for pets?
Sunset didn’t know for certain, but even if there was only an explosion of life that slowly burned down to a black nothingness, she was okay with it.
Even the broken could call a void home after all.
Vision blurring, she opened the box and took out a match. There was no damage that she could see, no dampness she could feel, and she just knew that this match would work exactly as intended.
She heard a thunderous stomping, the sound nearly drowned out by the furious thump of her heart, and glanced over to see him coming down the stairs, a murderous look on his face.
She giggled once more and held up the match to the box, waiting until he saw exactly what she was about to do before flicking her wrist.
I’m going home.
