Through My Eyes

Prologue

Trigger Warning

Mentions of domestic violence and child abuse.
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I wish I could come up with something beautifully poetic to describe my pain. Unfortunately, there was nothing beautiful or poetic about my suffering. It was a soul crushing agony, a bone breaking ache, and a skin tearing torture, all wrapped into one.

There is no other feeling quite like having your head bashed against a wall over and over again. Unfortunately, in my case, the wall was a hard one, and the one who was doing the bashing was a maniacal, sadistic, sociopath. A madman who, for whatever reason, decided that I was the best person to use as a punching bag. My mother's boyfriend, Oscar.

"What did I ever do to deserve all this?" I've asked myself this question infinite times, but I don't think I'll ever get an answer. No one ever does.

If God was listening, and if he cared, wouldn't he have stepped in by now? Wouldn't he have helped me escape from this prison? I'm not a perfect person. I'm not a bad one, either. I'm just a person. A normal person who makes normal mistakes. And I know I've had it easier than some and harder than others.

"Why?" The word fell from my lips, along with the blood pooling on my tongue.

I couldn't understand what was wrong with him. Was he a masochist? A sadist? I had no idea. I just knew that every time he hit me, his eyes lit up with a strange sort of glow. Was it pleasure? I didn't know. He was an enigma, and the fact that he refused to talk about his reasons for torturing me only made him more difficult to figure out.

"You are nothing," he whispered in my ear.

I wanted to cry, scream, and beg for help. But I knew none of those things would bring an end to the torment. They would only prolong it.

"Please," I whispered. It was a futile plea, but I couldn't stop myself from making it.

"Please," the word came out as a choked sob.

Oscar just laughed. His laughter was a cold, cruel sound. It sent chills down my spine.

"Look at you, so pathetic, so weak," he said. His words were like a slap in the face. They hurt and left a mark, but I knew I couldn't argue with him. He wasn't wrong, I was weak, and it was pathetic.

"I hate you," I spat out.

His hand was a blur of motion as he backhanded me across the face. My head snapped back, and the room spun.

"That was a stupid thing to say," he growled.

My face stung, but I was too numb to care. I had long since given up on feeling anything. The only emotion I could muster was anger. Anger at the world, at God, at Oscar, at my family and at myself.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." The words were barely audible, but they echoed in my mind, over and over again.

I hated Oscar, I hated my mother, and I hated myself. I was a pathetic, weak, useless human being. I couldn't even escape from the hell I was in. I had tried running away. I had tried talking to my father. I had even tried telling a teacher. But none of it had worked. None of it had made a difference. Nothing ever worked out the way I wanted it to. I thought after all these years I would have gotten used to it, maybe even learned how to accept it. But I was never able to. It just didn't seem fair to me.