Disclaimer: this story contains abuse, if you don't feel comfortable about this particular subject feel free to choose another book to read! Enjoy!
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I bring my knees to my chest as I stare at the cold, wooden floor of my bedroom. The yelling intensifies below the floorboards causing me to flinch; A loud glass shattering noise filled the air. I grip my legs and try to calm my rapid breathes.
It was only a matter of time before he came up the stairs.
I hear my mother screams turn into loud, drunken sobs. Ones that I'm too familiar with to pity her. The stairs begin to creek under the weight of him. The shuffling footsteps finally stop in front of my bedroom door. My heart began to race.
Before, I attempted to hide from him; Under my bed, in my closet, even on the roof. All my efforts to escape him, failed.
The door knob slowly squeaks as he opens the door. The fear running through my bones heightens. The door opens revealing his large, built figure standing in the doorway. His dark eyes are now fixed onto mine, causing instant discomfort.
He begins taking strides towards my small frame crouching in the corner of my bedroom. I started moving backwards in an effort to escape the inevitable.
He roughly grabs my arm and forcefully brings me to my feet. I whimper as he shoves me into the wall, causing pain to shoot through my left shoulder. He presses himself onto me making me move my face away from his.
"Oh, did that hurt?" He seethes in my ear, with a light chuckle. His hot breath fans my face, the pungent smell of whiskey lingers in the air. I wince and try to escape his hard grasp on my arms, but still refusing to reply.
"How about this?" He asks coldly. Not long after those words were spoken, surplus of pain hits me like a truck. I fall to the hard floor and hold my face. A concoction of tears and blood stream down my cheeks, into a small puddle on the floor.
I focus on his shoes, trying to take my pounding mind off the discomfort consuming my body. The shoes began to walk away from my limp body. I internally sigh as my door is slammed shut.
I'm relieved that the beating wasn't bad tonight. It could be more violent than previous encounters. I slowly sit up, instantly regretting it. I compose myself and stand up from the floor, making my way to my bathroom.
I stop in front of the sink, trying to work up some courage to look at the damage done to my features in the mirror. I glance into the mirror, studying the reflection I see front of me.
The frail girl standing before me looks like she hasn't slept in days. She has a large bruise forming on her cheek. Her caramel, brown hair was in messy strands. Her brown eyes seem to hold a sadness behind them.
This can't be me. I don't want this to be me.
But this is my life, my messed up, sad life. I hardly know how to live anyway else.
I grab a towel and hold my nose in an effort to stop the bleeding. After the bleeding ceased, I continue to look at myself.
When I was 13, my father passed away. After the funeral, my mom turned to alcohol as a coping mechanism. When she went to the bars every night, she met him. Seth Carson. He could be associated with the devil and I wouldn't be surprised.
I only believed monsters existed in fiction until he came into my life.
The abuse started after they were married. She didn't care; she didn't even believe me. Now that she knows, nothing has changed. She doesn't do anything to help my brother and I, only herself.
