I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling a sense of peace envelop me. "I never knew love could feel like this," I murmured, my voice filled with contentment.
"Me neither," he replied, his fingers gently playing with my hair. "But I wouldn't trade i...
~"I think i've lost myself So guide me with ur light the spark inside of me has died So i'm walking through the night"~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Amelia Lockhart
Whack! The belt struck hard. Then another, and another. I lost count after seven. My skin screamed with each blow, and I could feel my body shutting down. If he didn't stop soon, I knew I would black out.
"You filthy, ungrateful piece of trash," my father snarled into my ear, his breath hot and sour as the belt lashed my back again. "Burn the food, will you? Think if you can't eat, no one else should? You little bitch."
The pain was suffocating. Every muscle in my body begged for mercy, but I couldn't cry out. If I did, he'd only hit me harder. Just endure it, Amy, I told myself. A little more, and he'll tire. Then you can crawl back to your room.
After what felt like an eternity, the blows stopped. I gasped for air, my body trembling, but there was no relief. His belt wrapped around my throat, tightening like a noose. He yanked me up by my hair, forcing me to stand. A cruel smirk spread across his face before he kicked me hard in the stomach. Pain exploded inside me, stealing what little breath I had left.
He spat another curse and delivered a final kick before turning away. As his footsteps faded, I collapsed onto the floor. I could barely move, every inch of me aching, but I forced myself to crawl back to my room. The door closed behind me, and I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to push back the waves of agony that crashed over me.
I had to clean the wounds, had to take care of myself. No one else ever would.
After tending to the worst of the injuries, I stepped into the shower. The water was hot, scalding almost, but it felt good against my battered skin. I leaned against the tiles and let the tears flow. I cried harder than I had in months, wishing the water could wash away the pain lodged deep inside me.
When I finally finished, I dressed in whatever clean clothes I could find, not that I had many options. I sank onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Why me? I thought bitterly. Why am I the one who has to suffer? As darkness crept in, I let myself fall into the temporary peace of sleep.
The next morning, I woke at 6:45 a.m., as usual. No time to rest, no time to heal. There was breakfast to prepare.
I moved through my morning routine mechanically, barely looking at myself in the mirror as I washed up. My reflection was just another reminder of the bruises that bloomed across my skin, hidden beneath my clothes. By 7:15, I had breakfast ready and set on the dining table, giving myself a small window to sit in the kitchen and rest for a moment. My legs ached, but rest wasn't a luxury I could afford.
I might as well introduce myself. My name is Amelia Lockhart. I live with my father, Dave, and my sister, Laura—both of them abusive. My mother died when I was a child, and ever since, my life has been nothing but a nightmare.
