Good Witch (Nick x OC)

Everything Is Not What It Seems

*****Warning Mentions Of Abuse*****

~Quinn's Pov~

I woke up. Well more like came to. I slowly opened my eyes and tried to remember what had happened. I remember saying goodbye to my mom, her kissing me on the head as we pulled away from a hug. I remember her driving away as I walked up the steps of the porch. I remember knocking repeatedly for a few minutes, and the door being yanked open to reveal my father. I remember the bruising grip he had on my wrist as he dragged me into the house. The pain as he shoved me to the ground and slammed the door shut. The loud volume of his voice as he yelled at me for waking him up. The sent of alcohol that clung to his clothes and the smell of it off his breath as he yanked me to my feet and yelled into my face. Spit flying everywhere as he yelled and screamed. I remember the pain and disorientation of the first blow. The dizziness and disbelief I felt as I stumbled backward. I remember the growing pain as more blows followed. Some hitting my face, some in my stomach. I remember falling to the ground, and curling up into a fetal position. Trying to protect myself as he started kicking me. I remember crying out, and begging him to stop. Only for him to yell at me some more, and kick me harder. I remember hearing a distinct crack, as he aimed a kick at my ribcage. I remember a searing pain. I remember screaming in pain. And then I remember waking up. 

I try to sit up, trying to move as slowly as I can as I observe my surroundings. Fearing that he could be near by. I manage to sit up some, but immediately fall back down as a hot searing pain came from my side. I choke on a sob. Trying to be quiet. After a few minutes I try again. This time I power through the pain, letting out a pained noise as I manage to rise to my knees. I rest there for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. And then I use to couch as leverage to slowly lift myself up to a standing position. After awhile I manage to do just that. Letting more pained sounds leave my lips as I do so. When I'm fully standing, and I no longer feel such an intense pain, I limp over to one of the windows that were in the living room and look outside. 

I let out a sigh of relief, noticing that my fathers truck wasn't in the drive way. Meaning that he wasn't home. I limp away from the window and make my way to the kitchen, where I know I will find some pain killers like Ibuprofen or Tylenol. I set out a glass and the bottle of Ibuprofen onto the counter. And I start to look through the cupboards to find something to eat. I didn't want to eat. I weighed enough as it is. But I wasn't willing a to take a trip to the hospital should I create a hole in my stomach. So I decided to pick the lesser of the two evils and find something small to eat. Most of the stuff was past it's expiration date, but after several minutes of looking, I managed to find some bread that wouldn't go bad till the end of the week. 

After eating a slice of bread and taking a few pills to help with the pain, I made my way to the bathroom that was connected to my room. I had stashed a first aid kit should my father ever get mad enough to throw beer bottles at me. It had happened before, but I never imagined that he would do something like this. I tried not to tear up, but the more I tried the harder it became. And the next thing I know I'm balling my eyes out. 

How could he have done this to me? His own daughter? I never thought he would raise a hand against me. Threatening to? Sure. But I never thought he would actually go through with it. After several minutes of me sobbing my eyes out. I managed to get a grip on my emotions. I needed to see what damage had been done. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater and looked up into the mirror above the sink. I had a few red handprints, and some bruises along the side of my face. But I knew that what I found under my clothes would be worse. So I took a deep breath and slowly lifted the edge of my shirt. 

I was horrified. I had only lifted up a portion of my shirt and I was already covered in deep purple and blue bruises. Some of the smaller ones turning a shade of green and yellow. I knew that meant that they were healing but it looked awful. I didn't even realize that I had fully removed my shirt until I felt the cold gusts of air upon my vulnerable midsection. I suddenly remembered that I heard a crack before I passed out. Which lead me to start gently pressing my torso, trying to see if anything was broken. When I pressed down a little below my breasts, I hissed out in pain and jerked my hand away from my body. After a few minutes of breathing in short pain filled gasps. The pain subsided, leaving me with a dull ache. I steeled myself and pressed my hand against the same spot. Needing to see if it was indeed broken.