I rolled my eyes as I made my mother dinner, setting it down on the table before her. She grunted at me, eating her food in silence as I stood off to the side. I washed the dishes, trying to ignore the way her eyes stared at me, the way her nostrils flared as she walked closer to me.
"Why is that, you come home every day, and smell like a fucking mutt?" I stilled, scrubbing at a pan that once held pasta.
"He is my English partner mom, nothing else." I crumpled at the sudden pain on my lower back, the plate crashing and bursting into pieces.
I dropped to my knees as my mother took my head in her hands and slammed it into the cabinet.
I cried out, blood falling from a cut on my forehead into my eyes. Her boot covered feed connected with my lower back, my eyes filling with tears. She took a knife and pulled up my sleeves, already marked with my own self inflicted scars.