"Ow," I yell as my mother slaps me across the face. 

"Don't be such a baby, that didn't hurt." 

I can't stand when people say that. How do other people know what does or doesn't hurt me? They don't, but my mother seems to think she does.

Every evening she comes home from work, slapping me for not cleaning my room or not doing the dishwasher. The worst part is she helps kids at her job, and comes home and does the complete opposite. 

I turn on my heel and take off running. "Don't run away from me, wuss. I thought I raised you better," my mother screams in my direction. 

I get in my car and start driving. I don't know where I'm going, but I can't stay here. I turn on a backroad and pull to the side of the road, putting my car in park. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and call my best friend, Max.

"Hey, Jessica!" Max happily exclaims through the line. Hearing his voice makes my eyes gloss over with my unshed tears. 

"H-hey Max," I stutter out, my voice hoarse. 

"What's wrong? Where are you? I can come get you."

"I d-don't know where- I just d-drove. I'll be f-fine though," I mumble, stumbling over my words. 

"Jess, let me help. You don't sound in any condition to drive."

"Ok-kay. I think the street is Preston Street."

Within ten minutes, he was there. I stumbled out of my car and he grabbed me, pulling me into a hug. Next thing I know, the shoulder of his jacket is soaking wet. He leaned back a little bit and said, "Okay Jess, what happened?" He looked at me with concerning eyes.

I knew I had to tell him, but it was so difficult. I didn't want to say my mother had hit me, then it would make it true; and I've been trying to deny it every time it's happened. 

"I don't really want to talk here... or anywhere." I said the last part under my breath, hoping he didn't here me. 

With my bad luck, he did. "Jessica, I have been friends with you for three and a half years and I still haven't met your mother, nor have I been to your house. Also, every week you call me upset, sometimes multiple nights in a row and you won't ever talk about it. Please, just tell me. I want to help. Let me help; don't keep pushing me out." I was looking into his eyes when a tear slipped out. My heart hurt and I decided I would tell him, just not here. 

We got into his car and drove to his house. No one was home, per usual. His parents were always on business trips, that's a reason it was so hard to tell him. How could I complain that I got slapped a couple times, when he didn't even have parents around? It didn't seem right of me. 

He went up the stairs to his bedroom, and sat in his desk chair motioning for me to sit on his bed. We sat there for a couple of uncomfortable minutes, as I was deciding where I was going to start. 

I opened my mouth and then closed it; opening and closing one more time, I probably looked like a fish. I decided to start when the first time she hit me. 

A little while later, I was finally on what happened today and he had his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, listening, never interrupting me. Finally, I was finished and took a deep unsteadying breath. 

Then, Max leaned forward and wrapped me into a hug, burying his face in my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jess. I had no idea."

I just shrugged, "It's not like you could have known, I kept it all inside; no one knows."

"I have an idea, but you have to listen to me completely and then you can tell me your thoughts."

We had come up with a plan to stop my mother from hitting me anymore. As I walked into the house, my nerves were building. 

I saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of, what looked like, rum, in her hand. She lifted her head and saw me, her eyes darkened. Then she saw Max behind me, and she lifted the bottle to her lips. 

I walked till I was about 4 yards away from her, then stopped. I looked at her with disgust. Then I decided I would let her know everything on my mind. "Mother, as you know, you've hit me multiple times over the years," she gave me a dirty look. "Yes, I told Max everything. As I was saying, you've hit me a lot. I just want you to know that you will not hit me again." 

She smirked at that, "Oh really? What, is Max gonna 'save' you?" She said, putting air quotes, with her fingers, up, as she said 'save'. 

This time Max spoke, "Yes, actually and you are not allowed to hurt her anymore. If you hit her again, she will stay with me and we will call Child Protective Services on you."

"I do not want it to get to that, Mom, but I'm tired of you hitting me. I'm tired of just putting up with it. This will end, and it ends today. I'm done cowering down."

She sighed, "Alright Jessica. Just move out because with this behavior, I won't be able to stand it. I'll hit you again, so just leave. Don't call CPS and I'll let you move out at 16. Deal?" 

It hurt that she didn't care enough to fight for me, beg me to stay. Tell me she would never hit me again; that she would love me forever and it was all just a big mistake. She didn't though, so I said the only thing left to say, "Deal."