You call it abuse, I call it my Life

Chapter 1

                                                                           Chapter 1

"Please stop Dad stop please!" My Dad was drunk....The smell of Fosters lingered on his breath and clothes as he hit me. The pain was unbearable, still i should be use to it by now he does it so ofter that i cant remember the last time we had fun together."Who the hell do you think your talking to!" He shouted as he got more fiercer and punched me harder.

When My Dad had stopped and fallen asleep i looked in the mirror to see how much damage had been done this time. There were bruises all over my body, I had a cut lip and just below my eye i was bleeding.....The blood was rolling down my face and dripping onto the floor. This would be the third time i had gone to school with cuts and bruises and lied about it. The first time i said i had fallen of my skateboard while trying to do a trick and my teachers believed it but when i went back to school a second day in a row with new kinds of marks on my body they thought something was wrong and tried to talk to me but i had told them that i had fallen of my bike and rolled down the hill but now i don't know what to say.

"Milly what's happened?" I turned around to find my little brother standing there looking at the blood that was dripping from my face.He was only 5 and very small,"Nothing George go back to bed" He looked scared and frightened as if he new what was going on and the danger we was in. He soon dissapeared back into he's room and at that point i new something had to be done i couldnt let my brother see the fighting or feel the pain that i do.

My Dad had always been a drinker but it had never gotten this bad before. He started drinking really heavy about 3 week's ago 2 days after the funeral of my Mum.She had died from being stabbed by a couple of teenagers who had tried to steal her purse on her way home from work.She had been a nurse at Chelsea Westminster Hospital and didn't get off work until 9:30pm at night everyday 7 days a week.She was at the station waiting for her train when a group of boy's in hoods surrounded her and tried to take her purse but my Mum put up a fight so one of the boy's drew out a knife from his pocket and stabbed her twice in the chest leaving her there to die covered in her own blood while they made a runner by jumping onto  the tracks and escaping from the other side of the platform.

My Dad did use to try and hurt me befor but my Mum would always protect me from him when he was drunk or mad or angry but now that she was gone there was no-one there to save me from the pain of my Dad's punching and kicking.