The Me You Can't See (H.S)

65

TW: Physical Abuse

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Haven's POV:

All I hear is rain pounding down against the window of my room as I sit on the floor leaning up against the side of my bed farthest from the door. Anyone walking in would see a neatly kept room for a 16-year-old and nothing else. But I know the minute I hear his footsteps come up those stairs he'll find me almost as quickly as it would for me to take my next breath. 

So I sit here instead, hiding from the person who will always find me while counting down the seconds until the floorboards creak just enough to announce his presence. It's still early in the night which means he's probably on his fourth glass of bourbon right about now. One hand gripped tightly around the crystal while the other nurses a cigar. 

I use this time to take off any and all jewelry that I have on, rings, necklaces and bracelets which I proceed to store away in a box under my bed. Anything that can be used to cause more pain, anything that can be used to grab onto or pressed into my skin so hard welts formed in their shape. 

He's been so much more angry since mom passed away and I can't for the life of me understand why. His hands are the ones that killed her and yet he acts like he has something to mourn. Like her death had any real impact on him when she'd still be here if it wasn't for him. 

The thought enrages me so much my nails dig into the palm of my hand until marks are left in their wake but I can't do much. 

"Avery this room is a fucking mess." his voice startles me and I slide the box under my bed before he can see it. His words slur together and I may have grossly underestimated how many drinks he's truly had tonight. By the sounds of it, I'd say he was working his way up to double digits. 

"I-I'm sorry, I cleaned it this morning but I'll do it again." I stutter standing up and desperately looking for something to do. 

I hate the way I shrivel up in his presence but I can't help it. "Can you do anything right? God, you are so fucking useless." he speaks and I halt to listen which apparently was the wrong thing to do. 

Grabbing my hair he whips me toward my bed, bellowing out and I let out a yelp of pain. "Stop fucking standing there. When I tell you to do something you don't just stand there. You say 'yess daddy, whatever you say daddy'." he spits in my face, his hand tightening the hold on my hair and I can almost hear the way strands rip from my scalp. My hand instinctively grabs onto his hoping to lessen his grip and I control my breathing while pain shoots from my scalp to my toes. 

His eyes darken slightly and his hands soften against my scalp. I recognize the change in him and I wish I didn't. My skin crawls when he lowers his lips to the shell of my ear. "Say it. Say yes daddy." the smell of bourbon floods my nostrils and I suppress my need to gag. 

I say nothing for a couple of seconds because this man is not my father nor will I play into his sick and twisted games. "Say it." he growls. Shaking my head I pray for pain instead of where I know this will go otherwise. "No."

And just like that his demeanour shifts once again. Back up he looks down at me and as I look up at him through my eyebrows, I see I've accomplished my goal. "What did you say?" he grits out his hand now gripping my hair tighter than ever. 

"I. said. no." I speak slowly and assertively, tantalizing him which I know will do nothing but make this harder on me. 

"You know what I do to people who say no to me?" he speaks while letting his lips travel down the nape of my neck. He doesn't wait for a response before he clamps his teeth around my shoulder and I cry out in pain. "I beat it out of them."