Tommyinnit // [ MCYT ] Angst Oneshots

never felt safe [1]

/ TW: Yelling, Physical/Mental Abuse, Self Harm, Blood, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Hospitals, Eating Disorder /

/ Tommy's POV /

My father was screaming at me. I was shaking. I could barely see, as my eyes were filled with tears. I couldn't breathe. I started gasping for air. The tears fell out of my eyes and rolled down my face leaving tear streaks. I fell to the floor, looking up at my father.

"You stupid idiot get up," anger flashed through his eyes.

I started to try and get up, but my arms were shaking and I felt weak. I fell back down. I tried once again but felt a strong force hit my side and I tumbled to the floor. I sat there for a few seconds, I didn't know what to do. He's never done anything like this before... Yeah sure, he may say mean shit but has never done anything physical.

My shaky arms pushed me up from the floor so I was stood facing the man. He was stumbling, almost falling over. I smelt alcohol on his breath. It was starting to become a daily thing. He'd be drinking, then he would come into my room and shout mean things at me, but he'd never hit me. I felt scared. Is he gonna start hitting me as well? I stumbled backwards in an attempt to get away but hit the wall and realized I couldn't back up anymore. I looked at him, fear clouded my eyes.

Suddenly I felt sick. He wobbled towards me and smacked me across the face. My cheek burned from the sudden contact. I started hyperventilating again. I looked back at my father.

"Fucker can't even handle a slap?" He slurred.

He clenched his fist into a ball and raised his arm. I was starting to get dizzy from the lack of air. I quickly put up my arms as I knew he was about to hit me again. A heavy force thumped down onto my head. I hit the wall with a thud and almost threw up. I didn't look up, I was hit with another wave of dizziness, and struggled to keep my eyes open. Father just scoffed away and left me in here.

My head was pounding. I knew there would be a bruise, but my hair would cover it. I didn't feel safe anymore. I didn't feel safe in the first place... but this is different. I needed to get out. I felt trapped in this house more than I'd ever felt before. I looked at my phone placed on the dresser. I fumbled over to it and picked it up, then slid down to the floor. I could barely see the contacts the room was spinning so much. I desperately tapped the first contact, I think it was Wilbur. I held the phone up to my ear, but my hand was shaking so much I almost dropped it twice. After a few rings had passed through, Wilbur finally picked up the phone.

"What do you wannnt," he spoke in an annoyed tone, "I can't record right now, I told you that earlier."

"Wi-bu-r h-he-lp ple-as-e" I could barely talk, my throat hurt from breathing so fast. (Wilbur help please)

"Tommy? What's going on what's wrong?" He immediately sounded worried.

"P-leas-e c-co-me h-help" I accidentally choked on my spit causing me to gag. (Please come help)

"H-hang on... I'll be there soon" he let out, "I need to hang up so I can focus on driving" I could hear some rummaging in the background as if he was moving quite quickly.

"O-ka-y" I mumbled as he hung up. (Okay)

I lifted myself from the floor making my way out to the washroom. I quietly shut the door and held my head in my hand, attempting to get the dizziness under control. It sorta worked and I looked at myself in the mirror. Tears stained my face and my check had a bright pink handprint, clearly visible on my pale, malnourished, skin. My eyes were all red and puffy. I looked so weak.

My eyes wandered down my body, analyzing every flaw. My father's words ringing in my ears. You're so fat, you don't deserve food. You can't do anything right. You're more of a problem than anything. I can't believe you're my son. I never wanted you. You're a mistake.

Die.

My breath hitched. I tried to get the thought out of my head, but it wouldn't leave. I looked down at the drawers and opened the bottom one. I found the pair of scissors that I'd left there last night. I unrolled my sleeves revealing all the cuts. I opened them and clenched one end of the blade. The cold metal tore through my skin. It started bleeding, as I reopened one of the older cuts. I ran it underwater and it stung. I then walked over to the towel and lightly padded it. Then applied pressure with my other hand.

Did I really just do that? I did that almost mindlessly. I looked sadly at my arm as I slowly lowered my other hand. It was littered with cuts. I rolled my sleeves back down and went back into the hallway.

I made it over to the kitchen, knowing Wilbur would probably be here soon. My dad wouldn't have a problem with me leaving, but I should still tell him. And even if I didn't he would probably see me anyway.

I saw my father drinking from a bottle of wine, and there were a few bottles of vodka and bourbon sitting on the counter. He turned arround, but when he saw me, anger filled his eyes again.

"You stupid bitch-" he slurred then lunged towards me.

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