Abused and Unloved~

Chapter Eleven

The sound of weeping and boisterous yelling rouses me from my slumber and as I try to reacclimatize to the real world and fully regain consciousness I become starkly aware of a cold metal object on my forehead.

Once my eyes are open and the blurriness subsides I focus my gaze on the object and realize in a delayed panic that there is a pistol being held between my brows in the hands of my terrifyingly infuriated stepfather.

I frantically attempt to scoot away from the weapon only to slam into my headboard trapped underneath it.

Christian was shouting at Kaylee to exit the room with a voice that boomed like a clap of thunder as she curled into herself on the floor completely losing it.

His demands are almost incoherent to me as my chest explodes with nerves mimicking a bundle of lit fireworks.

"Dad stop it!"
"I said GET OUT."

My mom stood by my doorframe shifting nervously, looking unsure of what to do with herself.

"Kaila grab her." All she needed was that stern command to be kicked into action grabbing Kaylee off the floor who immediately started squirming and writhing to be released.

Christian ignored the chaos turning back to me with a psychotically determined expression.

"You could've gotten your sister killed." He smacks me with the gun and my skin practically tears on impact. I quickly apply pressure to my bruising cheek in hopes of relieving the new radiating ache and blocking a subsequent blow.

"What the hell made you think you could just stay with strangers? They could have hurt you."
"Because you give a shit about hurting me?!"

My body knew before my mind did that I had employed the worst possible choice of words and time to speak up, and I instantly found myself trying to speedily crawl to the other side of the bed and put some distance between us.

Christian grabs me by the end of my ponytail with his free hand before I can get too far, dragging me back to the edge of the bed despite my shrill scream and holding the barrel against my temple.

"Say something else, I dare you!"

I howl at the feeling of my tender scalp being torn in his grip as he dug the weapon further into my skull.

My breathing was staggered and choppy as I consistently failed to take a solid inhale.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't pull the trigger."

I absolutely despised receiving this demand from him because I knew he didn't actually want an answer, he wanted to psychologically torment me as I scrambled to justify my existence.

The smell of alcohol on his breath and clothes was so pungent I nearly threw up.

My mother finally returns with her arms crossed and a pointed expression in a weak attempt at reprimanding her husband.

"Christian you can't kill her."
"Why not?"

I try to delude myself into thinking he was joking but he had never sounded more serious in his life. I had irredeemably screwed up in his eyes— proven his worst fear true that I could eventually mature into attempting disobedience. I was officially a loose end he needed tied.

"Because people would notice honey."
"That's the only reason?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop myself which earned me another rough smack with the pistol, this time though it went off, effectively making a prominent hole in the wood of my headboard and my ears painfully ring.