Say You Hate Me

arrested

TW this chapter mentions $h, verbal abuse, $h and drugs

Elsie age 13

"Jesus Elsie, he doesn't want you here! Can't you see that? Even your own father thinks that you're a useless slut," Mabel hissed, her words stinging like venom.

There's a lot of things I don't know. Trigonometry, what happens after you die, the best excuse for handing in homework late

But one thing I do know and have known for a longer time than I'll admit, is that my father and I weren't close.

I blamed it on the aftermath of mom's death. But it's been years and I barely see him anymore.

It was like he 'loved' me because he had to. He loved me like it was a chore. He loved me like it was a part-time job with minimal pay. He loved me like he was being forced to.

He didn't truly like me. He didn't like my personality. He didn't like my humour.

He 'loved' me because he had to. He didn't actually like me.

And that's no way for a child to live.

Although I tried to ignore that fact, it was obviously true. He was hardly present, throwing himself into work or anything that didn't involve me. To call him 'dad' was almost an insult to all the real dads out there. He was nothing more than a stranger tasked with providing for me.

Sucks, huh?

A malicious smile stretched upon Mabel's lips. "You finally get it,"  she stepped closer to me and pressed a shiny acrylic nail to my temple, a screechy laugh erupted from her chest, "you finally understand that your father doesn't want you."

Mabel.

Tall and slim with breasts that poured from her low-cut tops. Glossy black hair that hung in front of her face like curtains. A gaunt face, almost like someone had stretched a thin layer of skin across a skull. Her cocoa orbs sunken into her skin, shadowed beneath thick black lashes. Her skin plastered with an extensive amount of makeup. Her sloping nose had a greasy sheen on the tip and crinkled in disgust whenever her cocoa eyes met mine.

My stepmother.

My cruel and aggressive stepmother.

Dad married her last year. I can't believe I was so naively happy - the idea of having a real parent in my life. It became apparent that I was not getting anything close to a parent as soon as I met Mabel.

"I'm not going, Mabel! This is my home. I've lived here since I was born," I protest, my vision blurred with moisture, "he does love me - he's just struggling with mom's death and he just needs time,"

I was trying to convince myself more than Mabel.

"Jesus Christ, you're dumber than I thought," she snarled, taking a step back. I wince at the harsh words but  my strong posture remains. I was not going to cry. Not now. Not ever.

Bile climbed my throat as nausea washed over me. I swallowed abruptly.

"I'm not leaving just because you have some stupid hatred for me-" my words die on my tongue as soon as her fist collided with my cheek.

"I've told you before that I don't tolerate your disrespect," she sneers, admiring her reddened hand.

I try to respond but I can't.

The pain blooms in my face and heat blisters in my cheeks. I squeeze my eyelids shut.

It's not real. Mom's still alive. Dad loves me. None of this is real.