Eyes of a Killer

Why me?

Liliana's POV:

"You are a worthless, sniveling piece of shit!" Kick. "You aren't worth my time, or anyone else's." Kick. "You. Are. Nothing." Another kick was aimed into my rib cage as my father screamed insults into my face, beating me with his fists, as I lay huddled on the kitchen floor.

Both hands on my ace, defending any possible bruising from the many beatings that I had received this week, since our move to Portland. The plane ride had been bad enough with his constant prodding and pinching from the seat next to me. He even groped my ass when I got up to use the bathroom!

I shivered with revulsion at the memory. His sneer grew as he ripped open my blouse, silver buttons flying across the room and under the fridge.

Licking his lips, he savagely grabbed my light brown curls in his hand and hauled me up s I was standing. His other hand reaching to grope my breast. Giving up, I just sagged against his grip surrendering any willpower, any fight I had left. 

He soon grew bored with me. Throwing me tot he ground, just like a four year old would throw and old, broken toy.

Scrambling and stumbling up the stairs to my room, I flung myself onto my bed and burst into tears. Why does this happen? I thought miserably.

Why me?

~

Waking up, all I could worry about was hiding my cuts and bruises from the people at this new school. It's bad enough I had to move, all because Doug thought that the men he hung around with were going to catch on...

Sighing and wiping my seemingly endless tears away, I put on my concealer and started thinking. I was thinking about how, if my life were different, I wouldn't have to wear any makeup, never have to cake my body or face in concealer, I could look healthy. I could look normal.

Fighting tears, I remembered being a happy child with my parents. I hastily put on my clothes and my ratty old combat boots. Letting my light brown hair fall around my shoulders, I gave up on it, as usual, as it had a mind of its own. It serves as my shield from prying eyes and covers my neck so I don't reveal bruises and cuts.

I rushed down the stairs and hurried past the living room, where Doug was passed out on the armchair with two bottles of vodka spilt on the carpet. I grabbed the spar key and walked towards my new school, suddenly feeling as though something bad would happen.