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🥀 Winters' POV 🥀 :
* Beep Beep Beep *
The sound of my alarm pulls me from my rare, dreamless slumber.
As I reach to turn the annoying sound off, I'm reminded of the many injuries across my body as a whole, from the beating last night.
Ugh it hurts so bad. No, Stop being a little bitch and get up. You deserved every bit of beatings. My thoughts run through my head.
* * * * *
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I realize I've sat there for 5 minutes lost in my own little world, staring at the ceiling.
Groaning, I roll off my bed, ignoring the pain shooting throughout my body. Once I'm up, I go to the bathroom to take a shower. I step in, prepared for the cold water spurting choppily from the shower head.
I'm not aloud to use hot water, he says I'm undeserving of such privileges. The day I tried to take a warm shower, to clean my wounds, still remains in my memory like it was branded there from the scars along my back.
He had caught me using the hot water and as punishment, made me boil water in a pot on the stove. When it was done, hepoured it on my back while holding me down, on the still running stove top.
I apply shampoo to my hair scrubbing it to my scalp, and rinse being certain to get all soap out. I repeat the same process on the ends of my hair with conditioner. Graphing my vanilla and cookie body wash I carefully scrub my body of the dried blood across my smooth delicate skin, littered with disgusting markings from punishments.
Stepping out of the shower, I look into the mirror. Bruises from the beatings I've endured, new and old, healed and healing, covered my pale skin. My bright light blue eyes look hollow, void of emotions. Light freckles barely visible on the bridge of my button nose, from the purple and blue bruises. My long deep coffee brown curly locks flow gently down my handprint bruised neck leading to my id back. Where the burns, scars, cuts, bruises, and carving scatter around my slim body. Rib protruding, some disfigured, surely broken.
You're so fat. You're disgusting. You're broken. Nobody wants a whore or disgrace like you. It's your fault your mother is dead. She didn't want you. Your father didn't want you. He doesn't want you. You should never have been born.
No it's not true.
I try to tell myself. But even I don't believe that anymore.
I grabbed my towel, wrapping it carefully around my body. Leaving my bathroom I go to my closet. I grab an old top I cut into a crop, a flannel, and a pair of worn ripped jeans. Basic I know, but it's all I have. All the clothes I have are ripped or to big. Like my crop top, it was so ripped it was the only option to make it look decent.
