Vile

Chapter 1- The Hanged Man

I stare at the ceiling of the dark room with dry eyes, the only light coming from my green lava lamp and the slightest bit of moonlight peering through the blinds. I want to cry. I need to cry. But my body is so used to this pain, this torture. The taste of the vile shit is still in my mouth, my face still stings from his hand colliding with it and my head hurts from my hair being used to guide my head. I turn my head and see a framed photo of my mother on my bedside table. I miss her. She died when I was a young, car crash. As I look at the photo I wonder what she would think of the man she once loved using their son for pleasure and getting off at watching him lay on the ground in pain. My eyes slightly wet as I place the photo face down but quickly dry. Why can't I just fucking cry? Why do I have to be so used to the mental and physical pain to a point that I just feel numb?

As I lay in bed all I can do is think about life, the past, my mother and the band, until - I hear a glass slam down on the counter downstairs and heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Oh shit. The footsteps get closer and closer. Shit fuck, shit shit fuck. No, no no no. I hear the squeak of the door knob. I'm dead. The door flies open and my father druninkly stumbles through the doorway as always. He takes off his belt "Get over 'ere" his words slurring slightly. I want to resist, I really do, but I know if I do it'll only be worse, so without even a sigh I comply and kneel down in front of him. He grabs my wrist tightly and brings my hand up slightly and slaps it hard with the belt. I wince...shit that was a mistake. Before I know it I feel his belt colliding with my shoulder. "That's gonna leave a mark, isn't it boy?" I hear coming from my father's piss drunk mouth with an evil laugh following. It takes every fibre in my body not to scream and fight back, but instead I stay there in front him taking this abuse.
"Well?! Answer me boy!" I look down at my shoulder then at the floor.
"y-yes sir, it will..." He grabs my chin and pulls my head up so I'm now looking up at him "You look at me when I'm talking to you boy!" He squeezes my jaw tighter and scoffs "you have your mother's eyes." Before I know it I've been pushed to the floor and have his shoe ramming into my stomach. My arms wrap around my body as I groan in pain as he stands over me. My eyes shut as tight as they can as his hand slaps across my face. After a few more kicks and slaps my body has ended up curled up in pain, barely able to move. The springs of my bed squeak as my father sits down, for some unknown reason I open my eyes and see him unzipping his pants......fuck. I soon see the fucking asshole standing over me clearly enjoying my pain.

✩ ♬ ₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I pour the soap into my hands and scrub my face as hard as I can as the hot water drips down my back, I don't care if it gets in my eyes I just want this vile shit off my cursed skin. My mind starts rushing with intrusive thoughts of not only things that could harm me, but kill my father. My skin starts to turn as red as my blood from the boiling water pouring  down on it from the shower head. It may sting but that's the whole point, isn't it? To feel the physical pain because you can no longer feel the emotional pain anymore?

After a long shower I step out and get dressed into some black track suit pants, a simple black tee, and the green hoodie that Chandler gave me. He says it matches my eyes. As I finish getting changed I hear the front door open and close then a few familiar voices and first thought is to lift my fist and watch the mirror shatter to a million pieces. It'll be a cold day in hell before I get used as a group fucktoy again. As quickly as I can I rush into my room and lock the door before putting on a pair of black socks and my classic black and white Converse All Stars. I go over to my window and try to be as quiet as possible as I pop at the security screen from my window. I put my backpack on my back before climbing out or the window. Fuck it's cold. Well no fucking shit it's July in the Scenic Rim, of course it's fucking cold.

I begin walking away from the house towards the old abandoned church on Southport avenue where I stay on nights like these. Luckily for me the church is only a few doors up the road. After about a minute of walking I make it to the church and walk around the back to the broken window to climb through and the smell of mould. With a sigh I walk over to the old dusty pew that already has a blanket on it from last time when I left it here. I place my bag on the floor with a sad smile "Home sweet home, I guess." I curl up under the blanket to protect myself from my -2°C weather with my phone trying to distract myself from the fact that there's most likely snakes and spiders are surrounding me right now. I've lost count of how many times I've seen massive spiders in here, especially huntsmans. Not to mention the deadly snakes in the area, red bellied blacks, eastern brown snakes, and death adders. I love living near the rainforest but sometimes the wildlife scares the absolute fucking shit outta me. After a while of laying there freezing my dick off in the cold I see red and blue flashing lights outside. Fuck.
"Come on out Blake" I hear followed by a sigh and the light of a torch coming in from the window. Here we go again I guess...