Left To Survive

VIII

꧁ Yara ꧂

A/N: Warning!

This chapter contains self harm and physical abuse

(skip if needed)

ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ

My hand closed around the object and I got it out of my pocket. They were still shaking when I clicked the Swiss blade out, revealing a small knife that people usually take on picnics to cut their sandwiches or something (I wouldn't know, I never went on picnics, remember my fucked up family?)

I pulled my left sleeve up until my elbow to reveal my skin. Old scars and fresher cuts appeared. I stared at it for a while. Disgusting. Relying on this. But I felt like it was the only thing I could control at the moment. It dissolved the numbness I was feeling. It gave me something to focus on, gathering all negative energy in one spot. Or two, or three.

I closed my eyes and felt the sharp pain light up on my arm.

One.

13 years old. Doing my homework when I heard my brother yelling, shouting. Not again. Not fucking again. I jumped out of my chair and ran down the stairs. I saw how my mom had driven him into an angle of the room, using her belt on him. With every stroke he shouted it out, begged her to stop. That he'd do better...

Two.

... As soon as I saw the scene I shouted at my mom to stop immediately. She turned around. An almost unhuman glow surrounded her eyes, her whole body expression screamed anger, I saw her shaking and keeping her hands firm around the belt, like she wouldn't stop. She started shouting at me: that Aaron was disrespectful, how I didn't know how hard the job of a mother is, how she failed at raising us, how ungrateful and spoiled we were. Calling me names. Bitch. Slut. Whore. Punk. Dissapointment. With every word she came closer to me, until I was the one driven to an angle of the room. She raised the belt up high. To protect my face I turned my back on her...

Three.

... The pain was blinding. After a few strokes I fell down on one knee, on the ground, my hands against the wall. I could hear my brother in the distance shouting something, but I couldn't understand the words he was saying. I turned my face around to ask, to beg, her to stop. To stop the blinding pain, but just at that moment she hit me straight in the face, and my vision went black.

Four.

15 years old. I came down after a horrible night's sleep. Nightmares kept returning to me. My dad used to calm me down, but he hasn't been there for a long time.
Coming downstairs I started setting up the table for breakfast. My mom liked it when we all ate together 'as a family', but I could find it really awkward sometimes, if I was being honest.
I found a note on the table. It was adressed to "Lucia", aka my mom. It was not really sealed off, and I was too curious, so I opened it up. It was from my dad. ~

Five.

~ "Dear Lucia. This might not seem as a surprise for you. You know how much we've struggled in the past, and how much we struggle now. It's become too much for me. I can't deal with you anymore, and with the kids it is too much. Simply too much. I will always cherish our happy memories together. With love, Tom." His last note. What was it doing here? "Yara!" I turned around and saw my mom walking fast towards me. "Don't go through my stuff!"

Six.

16 years old. My mothers' voice resolved in my brain. I could feel tears falling down but the words didn't really hit me. I got my school results today, and she found out I was failing half of my classes. To her, I was a disappointment. Lazy. Ungrateful for everything she has done. Fat. Always sleeping. Always on my phone, in my room, hiding away. Hiding from her? she asks. I couldn't even look her in the eyes and pay the price for that. Soon it would be over, she was just having a bad day, and it'll be over soon enough, just keep strong.

Seven.

I remember waking up at night, I didn't know the time. My heart was racing so fast, and my whole chest pounded along with it. It hurt. It pressed on my lungs and took my breath away. I tossed and turned around, the blankets were wrapped around me, suffocating me again. I felt trapped, the blankets made my surroundings too hot, my veins pulsating. It was too hot, too hot. Heart kept racing. I was gagging and felt my stomach coming up. I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't fucking breathe.
I escaped from my bed and ran to the bathroom, thinking it was better to throw up in the toilet than on my floor. Struggling to stay on my feet and finding balance around me.
I hanged for a few minutes above the toilet, gagging, but nothing came out. Eventually the sickness went away and I got aware of my surroundings. The feeling was unreal. I was shaking, my whole body was shaking so bad. My naked knees hurt on the hard bathroom floor and I found balance in the toilet seat. Cold chills overcame me. After a few minutes I left and went to my room. I didn't close an eye for the rest of the night.

I stopped counting ar a certain point. Once you start, it doesn't really matter anyway.