Why am I here? (Sequel to the meet-up!)

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Good evening (it's evening for me) I'm very tired and sad. I don't know why I'm sad, but suddenly the jokes about me jumping off a cliff/bridge and dying seems tempting. Don't worry about me tho. I'll be fine again tomorrow. I always am. 

Sorry for that small vent, so let's get into the warnings!

TW (these applies for this chapter and the next chapter_- flashbacks, abuse, alcohol, knives, blood, injuries, homophoba/transphobia, self harm, eating disorder, coming out, facial dsymorphia, panic attack, implied rape (+incest), and manipulation. 

Now let's get this two-chapter bullshit over with. 

I don't remember getting back to Tubbo's house. I don't remember the drive nor the goodbyes. I just remember walking into Tubbo's house and heading to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and crouching down, leaning against it as my breathing picked up and my vision blurred. 

Memories flashed in front of my eyes, and with nothing else that I could do, I slipped down the painful wormhole of memories. 

I was young. I was only 6, watching as my life slowly set itself into place. I was innocent, happy. Unaware of what my actions could cause. 

I remember this day vividly. I had woken up that morning to my dad kissing my forehead, carefully shaking me awake. 

I remember pushing me away, begging him to let me sleep with my 6-year old vocabulary, but he persisted, finally mentioning that I was going to my grandparents that day, and if I didn't get up, he guessed that I would be staying here with the dog. 

This got me up. I had always loved my grandparents, but had never stayed at their home before. I had been so excited when my parents had to go to one of their friend's weddings in another state and was leaving me with my grandparents. 

I wish that I had argued against it. Maybe I could have gone and stayed with someone else. Then none of this would have happened.

But the young me was excited. They changed quickly into the clothes that their parents had chosen, jumping excitedly as I waited for them to move our luggage to the car. 

When we reached my grandparent's house, everything seemed fine. We dropped off my luggage and my parents gave me a hug before we left, my mom taking my grandma to the side to talk to her for a minute. I still wonder what they talked about then. 

And then my parents left. And everything changed. Grandpa left my side, grabbing a beer from the fridge while Grandma took my hands and luggage, pulling me down the hall. 

"Where are we going?" I had asked her, with my six-year old voice feminine and squeaky. 

"Just to your room Sweetie" But even with her sweet words, her tone was serious. 

I was dragged down the hall, past their room, the bathroom and the guest room before she stopped, opening a door. 

"This is where you'll be staying Dear" She smiled and then when my six-year old self wasn't expecting it, she pushed me forward, pushing me into the closet that she had opened before shutting the door behind me, locking it with a click. 

I remember crying out for her, begging her to open the door as tears streamed down my little face. But she didn't open it. 

In fact, it didn't open until hours later, and it was Grandpa that opened it. He wobbled where he stood and looked down at my shaking form. 

He took another sip from the beer bottle in his hand before speaking. "What's a pretty thing like you doing here?" He grabbed my hand and pulled me from the closet. "Let's make you useful"

And then he dragged me to the kitchen, pushing a rag into my hands and then telling me to clean. 

"Clean what?" I had asked and his eyes narrowed. 

And before I could do anything, there was a sharp pain on the side of my head, and the shatter of glass. The force of the glass pushed me to the ground, and the remaining beer in the bottle got into the cuts, leaking from my head as tears streamed from my eyes. 

"Don't cry. Nobody likes a crybaby." He went over to the fridge a few feet away, opening it up and grabbing a new bear, opening it up and chugging it.  "Now get to cleaning. Or it will be worse"

Suddenly I was back on the floor of the bathroom in Tubbo's house, my breathing heavy as I mimicked my six-year old self, tears streaming from my eyes. 

The rest of those two weeks were the same. I was forced to stay in the closet in my spare time and every time I was allowed out, I was cleaning up my grandpa's messes, my grandma never found. 

When Mom and Dad had returned, my grandparents had cleaned me up, putting my stuff with the guest room, making it seem like I had been there all along. I had never told my parents about it, and I doubt they had ever learned about it. 

I only could take another breath before I was forced into another flashback, this time from when I was 10 and had gone to my grandparent's house so that my parents could take a vacation. This memory was much shorter than the last and I didn't remember it as clearly as the other one. 

I was scared to go to my grandparent's house this time. I knew now that they were only good when my parents were there to protect me. So how would they react now?

And just as before, the moment they left, my shaking hand was grabbed by grandma and she gripped it tight, not even bothering to grab my luggage before stuffing me back into the closet. 

I didn't cry this time. I knew what had been coming. 

And just like before, hours later I was freed from the closet by my drunk grandfather, but he was different this time. In his hand was a knife and he smiled when he saw me, tilting my head up to look me in the eyes. 

"You're so pretty, with eyes just like your mother's" He lifted the knife up and traced a line on my face with its sharp edge, smiling as blood dribbled down from the thin line. 

Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the living room, forcing me to the ground where glass and beer were everywhere. 

"You know what to do bitch" He swore at me, before sitting down on his recliner, leaning back and chugging his beer as I started to clean, the alcohol immediately getting soaked up by the old rag. 

But he didn't put me back in the closet when I was done. Instead, he told me to come closer and sit on his lap. 

"Your face is so pretty. Just like your mothers" He booped my nose with his finger before pressing his knife into my throat. "I'm going to get you to do something for me. Just don't mess up, ok?"

And then nothing. Just the memory of pain racking through my body before being forced back into the closet where I stayed for the rest of the week, barely eating any of the food that my grandma had given me. 

But this wasn't the worst memory. In fact, we had only gotten halfway through. 

Will be continued...