𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫 ||𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐏𝐝 (𝐔𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝)

Chapter 2

"Why are you so useless?!"

"This is all your fault."

"All you do is make everything worse, you pathetic bitch!"

"I'm s- sorry" my frail five-year-old self, choked out between sobs. "Ill do better daddy, I promise" I cried, my chubby cheeks were stained red - from the punches and the tears.

Despite my attempts he didn't stop his attack on me, and his words began to repeat, taunting me and reminding me never to forget that I was responsible.

"You will never be able to do anything right!"

"Your nothing but a disappointment to this family!"

Gasping for air, I shot up from my pillow. My feet scrambled and tangled themselves in the rippled sheets which were closing in on me. Pushing myself backwards in an attempt to free myself from my demons, I hit the chilled wooden headrest located behind me and automatically winced in pain.

My body slumped forward and without hesitation my arms wrapped around my stomach, applying compression to my contusions.

Remembering my previous thoughts my eyes snapped up, at this moment I had to make sure I was alone as I ignored the heat searing uncontrollably through the swollen areas of my upper body.

I scanned my medium sized room for any signs of danger. I had to know the horrors hadn't followed me into the present, but I was certain that the main terror of my nightmares was down the hall, most likely sleeping peacefully without any feelings of remorse or guilt about the events of the last eleven years.

They say our childhood is supposed to be full of the most exciting times of our lives, when in reality mine was the opposite. If this is the best amount of happiness and affection I will be shown for the rest of my existence, then it might as well stop. I don't know how much longer I can take any of this...

I've thought about running away, but I could never leave my brother and my mum would be put through even more stress - I refused to be the reason for her tears. This has never been her fault; I knew I was partly to blame for my dad's anger. After all, every day I am constantly reminded of it and today would be no exception.

To my luck, I was alone in my room. The soft and fresh feeling of Chicago's winter breeze floated through my window and sent a responsive tremble through my body. Not wanting my room to become an iceberg, I hurriedly staggered over to the handle and smoothly locked it.

My arms were still clutching my stomach and I was in desperate need of a shower, at least then I could assess the extent of my injuries. Although, the agony I was already suffocating in was more than enough for me to tell the damage had gone deeper than the outside layer of skin. I just hoped it wouldn't take too long to heal.

What hurts me the most is this is what he wanted. My dad wanted me to feel this way, to be in discomfort. No matter how hard I tried to be the daughter he wanted me to be, I could never do right by him.

All his hurtful words that I hear so often, they are all true. Everything he says to me, he believes and that alone damages me. The physical hits arent nearly as bad as my mindset, that on its own is way beyond repair and overtime I have learnt how to accept it.

Growing up, I never had the parent or sibling you could confide in. My older brother, Ben, had moved out when I was five years old. He rarely visits, but when he does, I am extremely thankful. Ben is twenty-nine years old, and to say my dad fears him, would be an understatement.

My older brother is unlike me and Luke, he has grown into a mature, well-built adult. I think my dad feels intimidated that he is no longer the 'toughest' family member, but I can only assume as he hides his emotions around Ben.