Unspoken, but Loved (H.S)

Chapter 2-Please leave me alone

Rushing out of the small liquor store, I tightly held the two bottles like my life depended on it. Well, actually, it kinda does. I briskly walked back home, if you can even call it that, and slipped in through the side door again. As soon as I stepped foot into the house, I smelled a heavy amount of cocaine and alcohol. I quietly made it to the small kitchen and set both bottles on the counter next to tens of empty ones identical to them. Small amounts of the powdered drug was left next to the glasses. It was nothing out of the usual but it seemed a little more quiet than usual.

Just as I was about to turn the corner to head to my room, I felt an arm tightly grasp me and turn me quickly in the direction of the hand.

"Where the f*ck do you think you're going slut?" my father accused with his teeth close to my face spitting as he voiced the words.

I looked at him with wide eyes and shook my head. I was petrified because I could smell the booze on his breath and saw the white powder beneath his nose.

"Huh? F*cking whore speak to me, damit!" growled my father, drunk off his ass.

All of a sudden, I felt the air being taken out of my lungs when he puts his strong thick hands around my throat from behind, giving no mercy to breathe. I knew better than to fight back by now, he would eventually stop just before any extensive damage would be done to me to make me go to the hospital. He punched me in the stomach and side, multiple times until he apparently thought it was enough. Pulling me back to his torso, he twisted my arm around to my back, just enough so it was sprained and not broken. Just as he finished twisting my arm, he brought his large disgusting hands to my lower area. I felt him rub against my core through the thin fabric of my pants, rough and hard, until he was satisfied with my cries.

"I'm going to f*cking kill you one day bitch! Now be a good girl and pleasure me," he demanded harshly while moving me to my knees in front of him. Tears leaked down my face one by one while I got to my knees and sat in front of him. He unbuckled his dark pants and threw them off his sweaty body. He proceeded to grab my hands and place them right where he wanted them most. I struggled to find the strength in my weak arms to touch him. After 5 minutes of stroking and pulling him, he released and fell to his side on the couch, asleep.

I got up quickly, blinded by the tears still in my eyes, and rushed to my room, softly closing the wooden door. I fell against the rough material with my back getting scratched as I went down. Holding my hands to my face and knees to my chest, I sobbed for what felt like the thousandth time. I couldn't catch my breath, my heart was racing, hands shaking, and my mind was foggy. I knew it was another panic attack beginning to eat its way into me. Slowly counting to 20, I got myself up to go to my bathroom.

In there, I went to find my razor. Once I found the shiny rusted metal, I sat on the floor with it in my hands. Bringing it up to my wrist, I sliced the thin delicate skin repeatedly a few millimeters apart, on both wrists and my thighs. Each one having a different reason. I'm worthless. A slut. A whore. Ugly. Alone. Dirty. A piece of garbage. The burn and stinging gave me feeling in this time when I felt so numb. It gives me control of myself.

From the blood loss, I felt dizzy so I laid down on the floor, and closed my eyes, wishing I would never be able to open my them again.