Differences

Chapter 23- Alaina

New Chapter!!!

Warning: This chapter explores abuse and violence. Please read what is most comfortable for you.

Enjoy reading ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

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Lily was right. And I was right too.

But I had underestimated my idea of soon.

I had thought I had at least a couple of weeks of time to spare before my father decides I was given enough time.

I could have made excuses. I could of have said that I was busy trying to gather more information. I could have just avoided the whole issue altogether. He couldn't reach me here. But he would reach out to the whole Taylor's family with his disgusting ways. And that wouldn't be fair for any of them.

So here I was driving towards the house that I had grown up in. Everyone in the house greeted me like they usually did.

By ignoring me and my existence.

At least they didn't prevent me from coming in. I walk towards my room first. I already had my self-talk session last night and my drive here, but I needed another one.

But that thought was immediately dismissed when my father appeared right in front of me and decided to take me by the ear down the multiple staircases that I assumed led to that room.

It was a personalised torture room.

For me.

I was thought correctly and was thrown inside, crashing on right, pain scorching from my right to the core of my body. I bite my mouth down, preventing any noise from escaping.

"How many times have I told you to tell us what the fuck was going on with the Taylors!" My father demands. Normally, I would probably do anything to fasten this process so he would just leave, but that wasn't an option anymore. I decided to act dumb.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." I stutter out, and then a quick, harsh slap hits my face, my body jerking from the impact.

"Don't make me ask again" He threatens as he stares down at me. Eyes full of pure hatred and anger. Not once had I come face to face with this person and saw kindness or the eyes of a loving father. The only thing I saw were eyes filled with abhhorrence. Like I wasn't his child. 

"Father, I don't under-"  I couldn't brace for the monstrosity of strength that kicked me in my core. Pain pulsated and raidated throughout my body and I couldn't help but yelp.

"Make it easy for yourself or not. Your fucking choice" He says as he walks away from me, then walks towards the table that had a wide array of pliers, tweezers, scissors, knives, guns, you name it. He looks around carefully, chose the knife, and walks back towards me.

Slaps, punches, kicks, I could deal with easily, just brace for impact. Bullets? It was a one off event. It happens, it goes through or lodges itself into something, and that was it. 

But knives? There was no escape, there was no knowing of how long it will last, and dealing with it afterwards, was a nightmare of its own. It was nowhere as clean as a bullet wound. 

He slides the knife across the skin of my thigh, not hard enough to cause any harm but that was coming. It was just a matter of time. 

"Speak up!" He yellls once again. I remain silent, locking my eyes with his, defiant. I was never gonna speak a word for this man. He deserved none of it.

Sensing that I wasn't gonna spit a word, he digs in the knife, slides it across the side of my thigh. My jaws tighten,  as I bite the inside of my cheeks and I struggle to cope with the pain. I wasn't meant to be this weak. I tolerated pain way worse than this and I barely flinched. But now I felt so much pain just from a knife gliding across my thigh. I grew weaker. The absence of dealing with this, made me weaker.

As if to prove the point in my head, tears begin to trickle out my eyes and the pain began to feel almost unbearable.

He takes the knife out slowly and hangs it above my other thigh, and grabs my chin, squashing it tight, his face painfully close to mine.

"What are they fucking planning!" He demands. Why was he so money hungry? He had plenty. He didn't need anymore. Why does he have the need to ruin or take over other people's plan?

"They're not doing anything of your concern" I reply back, as calmly as my voice could muster in the given situation. I may have grown physically weaker to pain, but I wasn't gonna be the weak girl giving him answers just because he wanted it. I refuse to go back to being that mentally weak girl ever again. Being tossed and toyed around.

The knife goes back in, this time on my other thigh, I bite back a scream. Screaming only makes him go out of control. I needed everything I was able to control, be in control.

Not getting the answers he wanted or finding this ordeal entertaining enough, he restarts with his favourite weapon against me, physical weapon. He slaps, kicks, and punches me to his content, and I curl up in an attempt soften the blows, which were proven to be useless today.

It was no longer pain I was feeling, it was the hopelessness of my body not being able to comply with my brain that was bothering me now. If it was anyone else attacking me, I could end their life in any way I liked. But like forced nature, my body didn't comply when it came to this man I call father.

I was just the little abandoned girl needing attention who would do anything for it. Even if it meant I allowed them to abuse me the way they liked. And I still was. My body wouldn't move to abuse back him the way I would like to. Do the same thing he had done to me. Doing to me. Maybe even kill him in the process. But it wouldn't. My brain wouldn't. My body wouldn't. My soul and body was detached. I hated it.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it so much!

Perhaps he got bored of his own abusing session, or maybe he was now tired, the blows stopped, and he retreated away from my body. But I realised he was getting a call.

"I will deal with you later" He snarls and goes to back away, locking the place, and I was left alone in agonizing pain throughout my body and the blood that seeped through my thighs, arms, and lips. And I was locked in, but that wasn't really an issue. I knew how to unlock it, I just never initiated to leave this place because I had nowhere else to go anyway.

But now, I did.

Thankful that I had pins in my hair, I unlocked the old-style lock with ease. Dragging my body, urging it to move, I drag myself up the stairs. Blood was leaving an obvious trace, but I really couldn't care less right now, I needed to go back without anyone seeing me and I was very glad I came here by car, by myself.

I force myself to get inside and start the engine and drove out, as fast as I could. At least back home, I would be safe. He can't get to me, and he will never get the information he wants.

He doesn't deserve it.