I Hate You More

Egress Window

Harlen

"Get up," My father said roughly before pulling me out of my bed, "put some clothes on."

I didn't know how long it had been. There wasn't a clock in the room he kept me in. It wasn't our apartment. I knew that because there was a basement that I had been locked in this entire time. I knew we weren't in Los Angeles because I could see snow outside the egress window.

"Ok."

He slapped my cheek, "I didn't tell you to speak. I told you to put some god damn clothes on."

I nodded silently before following his instructions. I wished he would let me shower. My body was covered in dirt from being thrown onto the dirty floor, and there was dried blood all over me from all of the times he'd cut me and leave me there, not caring if I bled out or not. I used to hope that one day my dad and I would have the one on one time that we used to before my mom died. I never thought it'd be like this. I put on the black t-shirt, and grey sweatpants that my dad threw at me. There was a floor length mirror in the room, and it displayed my white sports bra, that was covered in brown stains. The bruises that littered my surely broken ribs were also very evident, along with the deep cut on my cheek. If I ever got out of there, I'd need a couple stitches.

I was so focused on my body, or the skeleton that seemed to remain, that I didn't notice my father approaching with a baseball bat. My body crouched down in just enough time for him to hit the mirror, sending glass shards everywhere. By time he turned to me I was picking up the glass, and cutting my hands in the process.

"Get the fuck up," He sneered before grabbing my ear and pulling me to my feet. He then slammed me into the concrete wall before grabbing me by my hair which was a mess due to my inability to keep up with it, "tell me why I shouldn't beat the fuck out of you right now?"

I didn't respond. There was nothing to say. He had beaten me nearly to death almost daily, since I got here, however long ago. Why would he stop now? Why would I expect him to?

He responded to my silence by swinging with his aim set on my side. After landing his blow he bashed my face into his knee, and based on the crack, I'd say he broke my nose.

"You are nothing," My own father spewed these words as he let me collapse on the mattress he had in the floor in the corner of the room for me, "you will always be nothing but, a punching bag. I enjoy seeing you fail. I enjoy seeing you in pain. It's your fault she's dead, and when you die, it will be because of me."

I didn't let out my sobs until after he slammed the door at the top of the stairs, locking it behind him. I couldn't move, and I could barely breathe. Everything we used to be was gone. He used to love me, and call me his little girl but, he didn't care about me anymore. I was nothing to him but, a punching bag.

Punching bag.

The words ringing through my head, reminded me that night with Remington. I was so at ease, and open. I hadn't felt that seen since my mom was alive, and I missed it. I remembered our conversation, every minute of it, as I took a notepad and pen I had hiding under the mattress. The blood I smeared onto the page didn't stop me for a second, as I began to jot down lyrics.

Go on make my day
Go get high in my mistakes
Give me more complaints
You're real I'm just a fake
I wake up
I'm so glad
I can be your punching bag
Go on make my day
Go get high on my mistakes

If you want me
Come and take me
Because I love
The way you hate me
Someone find me
Someone save me
Because I feel like
I'm fucking dying

I kept writing. This time, it all seemed to flow out of me. I didn't have any questions, and instead had a reason to keep fighting. I looked out the egress window as I saw snow falling, and came up with a plan to escape because I knew one thing.

I had to see him again.