A Cry For Help

Part One

Slowly, my breath escaped through my lips.

I laid there in my bed, hoping that I was alone. I could barely move, without a pain jolting to somewhere in my body.

I had gone to Blaine's house the night before to hopefully escape it all, with the plan of going and finally breaking the relationship of, like always. But every time I see him, I simply stand frozen in fear and can't talk, let alone break up with him.

Blaine was my high school sweetheart. We met in tenth grade, thanks to some of our friends and then we went to prom together and have been together ever since. It's been a few years with him, and that romantic high schooler that would leave me sticky-notes on my locker and walk me to class every day had pretty much disappeared. Now, it was a more stressed and angry version of Blaine. Once High School ended, we planned on going to college together, but some how he talked me out of it, that's when things started to go down hill. He would go to his job at some factory in the town over everyday, which he not only hated, but he hated the drive to and from work. He never made enough money to afford anything more than sandwiches and cereal as his meals for the day, and he blamed it all on me. He said that I held him back and that I was the reason for it all, and somehow he convinced me of that too. His words soon turned into actions, leaving me with bruises and cuts, like today.

Last night, I went over to see him and by the time I got there he already had a bottle in his hand, and his breath revealed that it wasn't his first. He was drunk, which only made things worst. I walked in the door and up to his living room to see him sprawled out on the couch. He saw me and called me the usual names that he referred to me as, "Bitch" was his main choice of vocabulary usually. He looked at me and blamed me for everything that happened today. From him forgetting his lunch at home, to getting to work late, to even not getting paid till Friday, which was the pay-day at his factory but he wanted the money today.

He grabbed my arm at first, clenching it until I screamed and he threw me against the wall. I hit my head on a corner in the room and fell. As I fell, he saw that as weakness and kicked me in my torso, not caring where he hit me. I just laid there, like usual. As he was done, he simply threw his beer bottle at me and left, to go up to his room, not caring about me for a second. I had to get up on my own and leave, which took me a considerable amount of time, even as I hurried to leave before he saw me. He would do all of this before he would even blink his eye. And that was just him.

I slowly arose out of bed. It was almost two in the afternoon. I stood up and headed into my bathroom. As soon as I walked into the small room, the first thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror in front of me. I was wearing a simple white tank top and a pair of short black shorts. I had a large purple bruise that was in the middle of my arm, his finger marks were almost engraved into my skin. I had multiple bruises littered around my body, from my legs to my arms. My face had a cut about an inch or two long from my cheek bone. I slowly lifted up the bottom of my tank top a little, just so that I could see my belly button in the mirror, and my stomach was covered in large, dark bruises, making me flinch in pain just from looking at them.

I looked at myself, I looked broken. Completely and totally shattered. This was a regular standard for me. Nothing new. I was just glad that the damage was limited to just this. This wasn't too much compared to some of the times in the past. I was okay, for the moment. But what would happen when something really bad happened to him... What then... I wondered but I didn't want to stay around to find out. I looked at my self one last time, taking it all in. The bruises to the cuts. I looked at myself and simply said:

"I have to end this."