Losers |H.S|

Chapter 4

9,5 years earlier.

Oh no, he's in a bad mood again.

I'm sitting in my room trying to study for tomorrow's Algebra test, torturing my mind with all the numbers. I'm not horrible at math, but my attribution is barely sufficient, as Mr. Garrison said at my last test. That applies for most of my school courses, and it's probably because I get easily distracted in class by my thoughts and the pain. Maybe education isn't for all people. Maybe I am one of those people, who knows. Maybe I'm doomed to live the rest of my life serving him and pleasing every single craving he has.

I'm really trying though, cause I really need to go to college as soon as possible, even though I'm still 16, miracles happen right? How much I want to leave this place and feel free again, feel in control of my body, I daydream about it so often. I need to flee from this life, look out for my future, because I'm not sure I'll survive if I stay here.

The front door downstairs opens abruptly and closes with a loud bang. This is how I usually can tell that is gonna be one of those times again, which is happening more often as the days pass. The way he enters the house indicates if I'll go through hell that night or not. And then I hear stumbling and glass shattering, he's drinking, but he's probably already drunk anyway.

I don't like the thoughts that occupy my brain lately. They seem very dark and I used to be such a happy and careless person, but I somehow lost that in the process. I can barely remember how joyfulness felt like. No, I won't let these thoughts take over me. I will survive. However I really need an escape to do that, and I can't just run. I'm too young for this and his friends will probably find me and bring me back to him anyway. Plus I don't have anywhere to go.

I can hear his drunk footsteps stomping on the hardwood stairs, and my palms start to sweat. Sometimes I wish he would fall off the stairs and pass out, does that make me also horrible? He sounds angry and very intoxicated, which makes it 10 times worse for me. My body trembles uncontrollably and I can't stop it, it has its own will cause it knows what is about to happen.

Please pass by my room. Please don't open that door. I need to finish my studying.

I tried locking the door but that infuriated him more, which resulted in me having a broken arm and a face that swollen, I had to stay home until the next week.

I know he loves me, that's what he always says when he's done with me. 'You know I love you right?' .Well, if he says so it must be true, but do people actually hurt the ones they love? It's not like I have someone to compare him to. He's the only person in my life that somewhat showed interest in me, ever, and the only one that claimed that he loved me. So I guess that's what love feels like, and to be honest I don't understand why people chase after it. Why would you want to be in such pain? I don't want love if that's the real deal. I just want to be ignored for the rest of my life.

My room is very small and my bed is tiny, but I prefer laying in this uncomfortable narrow bed than his big one. At least here I can't feel his breath on my neck while his weight crushes over me. Here I can actually sleep, and not dread the moment he wakes up with my small body under him. He never touches me here, he always gets me to his room.

Sometimes I wish he would wait until Friday night. That way I wouldn't have to deal neither with the curious looks and whispers from my classmates nor with the constant intrusive questions from my teachers. I still remember the last time Mrs. Hamilton noticed my bruises. Even though I tried so hard to hide them with make-up, the fingerprints on my jaw were still very visible. Every time the same questions :

' Is everything alright Dione dear?'

'Everything good at home?'

'How's your dad'

'Anything you'd like to share with me?'

' You know you can talk to me anytime you want to, right?'

No Mrs. Hamilton I can't talk to anyone because he's gonna know, and he's gonna get mad at me, and when he's mad things get much, much worse.

Oh how I wish I could just go back to the shelter. At least there no one noticed me which meant no one hurt me. Well not no one actually, I had a friend, the only friend I made in my life, but he didn't hurt me, he was actually nice to me, even though he never talked. Here the kids are mean to me because I'm different. I'm quite an introvert for a teenager and that means 'I'm weird' in the teenage language. I prefer it this way though because having a friend means sharing your secrets, and I can't do that, I can't share my secret, he will find out.

He's out of my door, I can hear him panting but he hasn't come in yet. Please please please, don't open the door.

Unfortunately for me, my prayers weren't heard, but I guess it figures... Because, if God actually existed, he wouldn't let him burst in my room right now. He would've protected me. He looks so much worse than I expected and that means only one thing for me.

Sometimes I wish I had a senseless button.

Smaller chapter but this was hard for me to write.