As if in slow motion, I turn to my mother perched on the couch. Her hard stare made the room freeze over. My mind raced a mile a minute. How’s it going to start? What did I do? Is it ever going to end?

Her eyes look at me, as if she were disgusted by the sight in front of her. I could see her yelling and knew she was mad, but I didn’t hear her. All I could hear was the beating of my throbbing heart. I never even saw the shoe, but suddenly, I drop to the floor, my hands on my aching head.

I could feel the hot tears rolling down my cheeks. My mom’s voice seems so distant as she yells for me to get back up.

Ignoring her, I pull my hands off my head. I stare at my hands through my tear-filled eyes and was horrified at what I saw. In the palms of my hands was a pool of blood.