bntm (OLD)

Chapter One - Introduction

Content Warnings - Abuse (Hitting, pulling, pushing), talk of abuse/beating, crying, migraine, talk of blood just general angst

Type: Angst, hurt/comfort

(Espresso's Point Of View)

I had let out a soft sigh. It was five twenty-eight in the morning. My alarm was bound to go off in two minutes, or a minute and a few seconds. Same difference. I thought about just getting up and starting my day right then and there, at that moment, but I decided against it, as I knew that the day would make me wish I didn't. I only knew this because I always regret getting up at my normal time every day, so wouldn't that feeling just be enhanced if I got up earlier than usual?

This is my fault for actually sleeping for once. But I couldn't help it!

Would you not sleep too, if you had been beaten to the ground by your drunken father beforehand? I was all worn out from sobbing. And being beaten, of course.

My alarm began to go off. It was far too loud for my own liking. My breath hitched and I jumped a little bit, then I proceeded to sit up. I turned off my alarm and took in a few deep breaths, resting my hand on my chest.

My chest.

I gripped my shir tightly, then looked at my closet. I put on my glasses, and then walked over to it and picked out a stupid black hoodie that had the Starbucks logo on it and a pair of black ripped jeans. I glanced outside for a moment through my window. Then at my door. Then back to my closet. I quickly snatched my binder from a secret spot in there. I proceeded to go to the bathroom.

It was roughly six ten when I got out of the bathroom after showering and doing my morning routine. I glanced at my chest in the mirror. Since I was wearing my binder, it was flat. I looked real. I felt a sense of euphoria cross me. A faint smile creeped across my face without me noticing. I then looked at my dark skin, letting out a gentle and shaky sigh. And then I looked at my long hair. It went down to my waist and there were light streaks in it starting from the roots all the way down. It was wavy. Where had the streaks come from? Who knows. They had always been there, as long as anyone in the history of ever could remember.

I glanced at the scissors on the sink, and then my hair.

What if I cut all of it off, right here and right now?

I shook my head at the thought of it and then proceeded to walk out of the bathroom. My dad rushed past me and entered it, slamming the door shut behind him. I began to walk downstairs to relax for the next half hour, as that's what I did in the mornings. It was really my only chance to truly relax throughout the day. I didn't eat breakfast. Ever. Unless we had extra cheez-its, that is.

My mom came into the room and took a good hard look at me. She squinted her eyes, and in her pretty, sassy voice, she spoke. "Where in God's name did you get that hoodie?" she asked. I noticed a tint of humor in her tone.

I turned to face her and gave her a small forced smile. "I dunno. I guess it just appeared in my closet," I said quietly with a small laugh.

I began to think about how much I hated my voice. I didn't get to think much though, because before I could, I heard stomping from upstairs.

It was my dad, of course. He rushed down the stairs and walked by my mother and I. He grabbed my mom as he walked and brought her with him to the kitchen. I heard them mumbling and then watched as my dad came out of the kitchen without my mom. He walked over to me and grabbed my arm forcefully. I winced, but allowed him to pull me up without objecting. Matter of fact, I stood up without him pulling me up much at all.

I looked at him and pursed my lips tightly. He began to pull me to my bookbag. "Grab your shit and leave, Mocha," he demanded.

I looked at my phone and saw that is was only six twenty. I had another twenty-five minutes until I was supposed to go out. I picked up my bookbag anyhow. Then I made a mistake. Nothing unusual, but I still wish I hadn't done such. "But- But, dad, the bus doesn't get here for the next-"