"GET BACK HERE YOU NO GOOD FOR NOTHING KID!" My so what Father yells after me. I keep on running, trying to distance myself from him. Today he just got laid off work and he's been gone drinking once again. As for me, I only had to make him angrier.
" NO! Stay away from me you drunken bastard!" I yell behind me, still running as fast as I can. Tonight is going to be hell. Which if you didn't know, harder beats. Bigger, darker bruises. The bruise on my left cheek has yet to heal from last weekend when my Father punched me. As I keep running, the cold air pounds against my face as I try to steady my breathing from running for so long. I turn my head to see if he is behind me. My breath quickens when I see him hot on my heals. However, as I round the corner, he grabs a hold of my batted dirty shirt.
"Please! Please don't hit me!" I cry, trying to cover my face. He only laughs and pulls my hair harshly and throws me onto the cracked sidewalk covered in snow. He kicks me and hits me.
" STOP! PLEASE STOP! " I scream. Of course, no one hears me. No one cares. My father picks me up and punches the side of my head and throws me onto the ground. He walks away and I silently cry. I get up and walk to the cruddy apartment my father and I live in. As I open the door, I make sure he's asleep and I tip toe into my small room with torn grey walls. I pick up a picture frame with the woman I missed the most. My mother. I wish she was still here. But she's an Angel in the ground sadly. I start to cry.
"Why does he do this to me mom? Please. Please make him stop." I whisper to the picture frame, holding it close with my skinny arms. After what seems like forever, I put the picture down and hunt for my favorite thing in the whole world.
My blade.
Looking for it didn't take long because it's always under my pillow. I easily find my blade and roll up my tattered sweater. Taking a look at my arm and wrist, you'll be wondering how I'm still alive. To be honest, I don't know myself. Sighing, and thinking why my life is just a piece of shit, I draw the blade slowly up my wrist. The blood pours out of my pale arm. It feels so good. I go for another cut. One cut. Two cut. Three cut. Four.
YOU ARE READING
One Cut, Two Cut, Three Cut, Four..
Teen FictionOne Cut. Two Cut. Three Cut. Four.. My name is Brittany. Brittany Stone. This is my life of a messed up, outcast, unloved, useless, discarded teen. My life hasn't been always been this way. However, since the day my mother died, everything...
