Path back to healing

One

Waking up, I realize I'm finally alone in the kitchen. The cold silence wraps around me like a shroud. But something's wrong. glance down, my breath catching in my throat. Blood is dripping from my stomach, pooling onto the floor.

I grimace, pushing through the searing pain. With whatever strength I have left, I force myself upright and stumble toward the basement-my room. My sanctuary.
I close the door behind me, careful not to make a sound, my hands trembling as I lean against it for support. Each step toward the cracked mirror feels like a battle. When I finally look up, I cringe at the sight before me.

My reflection is a nightmare. Purple and blue bruises covering my arms and legs, like ugly splotches of ink. My face is swollen, and I can feel a bruise starting to form around my left eye. I lift my shirt and wince. The gash on my stomach is deep, and the skin around it has already turned shades of yellow, purple, and red. I can feel the edges of it pulling apart.

I swallow the nausea rising in my throat. With shaky fingers, I peel off my clothes, each movement sending shocks of pain through my body. I step into the shower, turning the knob just enough to release a blast of freezing water. It burns against my skin, making me gasp, but I can't afford warmth. Not right now.

As the water trails down, I carefully avoid the cut, watching as the blood swirls down the drain. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep going, to finish. I don't deserve comfort anyway.
When I'm done, I dry myself off, the towel rough against my skin, and walk to the old mattress l've been sleeping on for years. I lift it to reveal a small needle and thread stashed underneath, the only medical supplies I own. My heart races as I sit down, trying to steady my shaking hands.

I bite down hard on the corner of my shirt, bracing myself for what comes next. The needle pierces my skin, and I want to scream, but I don't. I can't. The pain is blinding, each stitch a new level of hell. By the time I finish, I'm drenched in sweat, the world spinning around me. Darkness creeps in, and before I know it, l'm gone.
*
The next morning, I shoot up from the mattress, gasping for air. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. My body aches in a thousand places, the stitched wound a sharp reminder of last night. I touch the edge of it, hissing from the sting, but there's no time to dwell. Not now.

I need to move.

I scramble upstairs, making breakfast in silence, praying they don't wake up.
Praying I get out before it starts again. I make no noise. I don't even breathe too loud. One wrong move, and—

I hear a rustle from the hallway. My blood turns to ice. I grab my backpack and rush out the door, sprinting down the street without looking back.

At least at school, I'm just another face in the crowd.

The hallways are packed with students, but they move out of my way, giving me space.
They always do. They've learned. I'm not the one to mess with not after what happened last semester. One broken nose and a suspension later, no one dares call me names anymore. I have enough shit at home. I don't need their crap too.

I slip into class just as the bell rings, heading straight for the back, where I can sit in silence and survive another day. The pain in my leg is getting worse, and by the time the final bell rings, l've already torn open four of my stitches. But I can't worry about that now.

I have a shift at the café.

*

Walking into the café, I see Lizzy leaning lazily against the counter, scrolling through her phone. Her face lights up when she sees me.
"Isabel! Didn't know you were coming in today!"

I force a smile, my mind still reeling from the pain. "Hey, Lizzy. Yeah, I figured I'd take an extra shift. Needed to stay busy."
She laughs, brushing off my comment like she always does. "You're too serious.
You've got time to be wild and free, you know? No need to be all responsible just yet."

I nod, but I can't even muster a fake laugh this time. Lizzy lives in a different world. A world where parents don't leave bruises, and the worst thing she has to worry about is whether she'll be too hungover for work the next morning. I envy her in some ways, but it's easier to just love her for who she is.
"Sure, Lizzy," I say, slipping behind the counter. "You're probably right."

The café is busy, busier than usual, and time blurs together as I take orders, make drinks, and ignore the throbbing in my leg.
By the time the shift is over, it's nearly dark outside.

"Shit," I mutter, locking up. My heart races as I start to jog home. I can already feel the panic rising in my chest. I should've been back an hour ago.

The house looms in the distance like a prison.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself before opening the door. The moment I step inside, I know I'm too late. My father stands there, glass bottle in hand, a wicked smile spreading across his face. The glint in his eye tells me all I need to know.
This isn't going to end well for me.

***
This is the very first chapter I have ever written and I know it's very short but I promise it will get better. I wanted to start writing for a while back but didn't have enough motivation to start so I hope it was okay, but please comment what you think of it. I hope you liked it ❤️If there's any mistakes please let me know