Path back to healing

Two

Looking down at the floor, my body tenses, bracing for the inevitable impact. I feel him coming before I see him. It's the quiet before the storm-my breath hitches, and I clench my fists, trying to prepare for the pain. But how do you prepare for pain that never really goes away?

He lunges, glass bottle in hand. The sound of the bottle breaking was still ringing in my ears when he drove the jagged edge into my back. I let out a small, sharp cry-it escaped before I could stop it. I grit my teeth, biting down on the scream clawing at my throat. I can't let him see it. I won't give him that satisfaction.
"You bitch! Out spreading your legs again, weren't you?" His voice is a guttural snarl, dripping with venom. "You're useless.
Pathetic!"

The words hit as hard as the bottle, but l've heard them so many times they've lost their sting. His boot slams into my stomach, and white-hot pain explodes where I had only recently stitched up a wound. I curl into a ball, desperate to protect myself from the barrage of kicks.

My body screams at me, every nerve on fire, but I swallow it all down. I'm used to this. I can survive this. I have to.
I make myself as small as possible, willing myself to disappear. For a fleeting moment, it works. He stops. The silence that follows is worse than the attack. I chance a glance, hope daring to bloom in my chest, but it's snuffed out when I see the gleam of the knife in his hand. A sick smile spreads across his face, and my heart plummets.

He crouches down, too close, his breath foul against my skin. "Let's see what kind of art we can make today," he whispers, as though this were some twisted game. His rough hands flip me over, forcing my face into the cold floor, tearing my shirt open. I feel the cool kiss of the blade against my back. My muscles seize as the knife breaks through skin, the searing pain cutting deep.
Like a sadistic artist, he takes his time.
Each slash is deliberate, precise. The pain is unbearable, but I refuse to scream. I clench my teeth so hard I taste blood. I want to beg for him to stop, but I know better. He won't. He never does.
My vision blurs as the black spots start to creep in at the edges. I can't hold it anymore. A scream tears from my throat— raw, agonizing. The sound fills the room, drowning out everything, even his laughter.
That laugh-cold and merciless, echoing in my ears as if the walls themselves are mocking me.
I want him to end it. I want him to press the blade deeper, to push past my flesh and straight into my heart. Maybe then, the pain would stop. Maybe then, I'd finally be free from this never-ending hell. But he never gives me that mercy.
The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me is that sickening laugh, filling the room like a haunting symphony.
When I come to, the air feels heavy, pressing against my chest like a weight I can't escape. I try to breathe, but it feels like my ribs are caving in. Each shallow breath sends stabbing pain through my body, and I know something is broken.Probably more than one rib. I try to move, but the pain roots me in place. It's all-consuming.

For a while, I just lie there, staring blankly at the blood-soaked floor beneath me. The sharp metallic scent fills my nose, mingling with the overwhelming stench of sweat and fear. My blood. It's all mine.

I don't know how long I stay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, but eventually, I force my arms to move. My fingers dig into the floor as I pull myself upright, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through me. The world spins, but I manage to sit up. The room is silent, save for the soft drip, drip of blood falling onto the floor. My blood.

He's gone. My parents are gone. The house feels empty, cold. I'm alone, as I always am.
With trembling hands, I close the door to my room, stumbling toward the mirror.
When I catch a glimpse of my back in the cracked reflection, my stomach turns. The wounds are deep, jagged, and ugly. I reach for the first aid kit, but as I try to clean the cuts, my hands shake too much. I can't stitch it this time. It's beyond repair.