Her Demons (Ticci Toby x OC) (REDONE)

Chapter 2: Pain

We held onto each other for a moment longer before she finally let go, her gaze falling to the ground. "I'm so sorry...." I shook my head. "You shouldn't be. This is my problem to deal with, my war to win." She sighed. "Nobody should have to fight their wars alone. Ever." "You shouldn't be getting into this, He might hurt you too." "I don't care, He shouldn't be hurting you in the first place." I stole a glance at the basement door, flinching slightly. "You should go before He notices..." She nodded. "Bye." She whispered, giving me one final squeeze before leaving the way she came. I watched her go sadly, looking down as the door shut behind her. I limped to my corner by the mirror, sitting down with my left leg up and my knee bent, my right leg resting around it. I always limped- it was due to a broken leg inflicted by Him that never healed properly. I also knew that my left femur was also twisted, making the bone shorter than my right femur. I leaned back on the wall, my eyes barely cracked open just enough so I could see what was going on. Soon I started to drift off, but shook myself awake, a soft growl rumbling in my throat. I sat there for what seemed like hours, not doing anything except observing the complete and total nothingness that went on in my "room". Eventually the house went quiet, suggesting that everybody had fallen asleep and night had fallen. I slowly stood, cracking a few stiff bones and rolling back my shoulders, and trudged up the steps toward the door, hesitantly reaching out. I shook my head and opened it, walking out and carefully closing it behind me as not to wake him. Staying in the shadows and out of the squares of moonlight the Victorian-style windows provided, I crept to the front door, and opened it, slipping out and closing it behind me. I sighed and sat down on one of the concrete steps, holding my head in my hands. I looked up after some time, looking out into the forest beyond. In front of the house was a road that went on and on forever, probably off of interstate 95, that hardly anybody ever went on. Surrounding the property was a forest, the trees shadowed by the moon that sat high in the sky behind them. A slight movement to the left caught my eye, and I turned my head to look at it. Nothing. I blinked slowly. All that time in that moldy hole in the ground is probably making me go batty. I snorted at the thought, smirking slightly though it was barely noticeable. Yeah. I'm probably going batshit crazy and there's nothing anyone can do that's gonna stop it. I stood up again, taking one last glance at the forest before going back inside. I walked into the kitchen and looked at the clock on the shining silver stove. 2:47. The numbers shone in bright green light, a mirror reflection of the time spilling out onto the metal surface below. I shook my head and walked back to the basement door, hesitantly going back down. I knew I could escape whenever I wanted but I didn't know where to go, which was the only problem. I I had somewhere to go I would have already been long gone, away from this hell, and I would have taken Brandy with me. But I have nowhere to go, so until I do I'm stuck here. I sat down again, my eyes looking into the broken mirror on my left. I stared at the broken reflection in front of me, every movement being caught in the shards of glass, every blink of an eye, every muscle twitch. Everything. I looked away, closing my eyes, thoughts in my mind coming and going like cars on the road, like birds in the sky. Here one minute, going and gone the next. I shifted my weight so it was on my right leg instead of my left, making it easier to look around and if necessary get to my feet to get away from Him. I sat there for another long while before deciding to get up again and head back upstairs. Once out, I walked into the kitchen. 8:29. I sighed and walked to the refrigerator, opening the doors and pulling out eggs bacon and coffee creamer. I got out two pans, closed the fridge, and turned on the stove so I could wait for the pans to heat up. Once they were hot I laid out the bacon and cracked the eggs, and started making coffee. All for Him. A few minutes later He came down, sober and probably having a killer hangover. He sat at the table, wearing an old grey t-shirt and a pair of boxers. "You'd better be making breakfast woman." He growled, shifting a bit. I turned to look at him. "Yes sir..." He was tall, almost six feet, and looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. His skin was wrinkled and yellowing slightly, and his eyes looked sunken in, and he was fairly scrawny for an adult male. He ran a hand through his hair, which was a somewhat medium-dark shade of gray and short. His eyes darted from the eggs, to the bacon, and to the coffee that was brewing in the machine. "Good." He huffed, getting up. He got a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a nearby drawer, and took one out, lighting it. After a moment, he took it from his mouth with his fingers, blowing a stream of smoke from his mouth. "Where's your fucking sister?" I turned back around. "Not sure. I haven't seen her yet..." He snorted. "Stupid bitch better be up soon, I have to go somewhere in a few hours." I blinked, scooping up the eggs and putting them on a plate, along with a few strips of bacon. I set the plate in front of him, got him his silverware, and poured the cup of coffee. I shook up the bottle of creamer and poured a little in, putting it back in the fridge and setting the cup by the plate. "Now go feed the damn dog." He coughed, glaring at me. I nodded and walked into the backyard. It was a big space, about half an acre, and a small shed sat in the back corner. In the middle of the yard was a 6-foot-tall metal pole, and circling it was a black and white Pitbull, an inch-thick chain welded to its collar keeping in from straying away from a 7-foot radius. I went inside the shed, which was always unlocked, and dragged out a bag of generic brand dog food that weighed almost as much as me, about eighty pounds. I dragged it over to the pole and opened it, reaching inside and pulling out a scooper. I scooped up enough to fill the scooper halfway, and poured it into a faded brown dog bowl nearby. Said dog got up, looked at me, looked at the food, and looked at me again, wagging its tail a little. He went and stood in front of the bowl, stooping down to eat, and I went and put the food away, going back inside. He had finished eating and left the plate and empty coffee cup on the table for me to clean. I sighed. Why me?