Jeremike!~

Chapter One

                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~//Jeremy's POV//~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   The outside world had never really interested me. Yeah sure talking was nice and all but what about laying in bed and wallowing in self-pity like I was doing now. It wasn't great for the body and sure it wasn't great for the mind either but Hey, atleast I wasn't getting beat up! Well, thats not exactly true. I sat up from my bed, wiping the tears from my eyes. I let out a soft sigh as winced as I felt a flaming pain come from my wrists as my jacket raised a bit. I ignored it as I went to take a shower.

   I quickly got undressed, not daring to look down at my body, already knowing the bruises and scars that laid there. I hopped into the shower wincing a bit at the warm water that aggitated my already bad wounds. I quickly washed and re-dressed myself. I could see my bloodied razor off to the side but ignored it. I already had enough wounds today. I walked out of my room relaxing at the sounds of loud snores.

   I began cleaning the house, picking up glass shards and cleaning my blood off the floor. If you couldn't tell already yes, I'm abused. Does anyone really care? No, not really. I ignored the bleeding from my fingertips from cleaning the glass, just letting the rag soak it up since it was being used to clean blood up anyways. Soon enough the house was clean and breakfast was made, which of course I wasn't allowed to have. I quickly grabbed my jacket and walked out of the house. I knew I had a limp but once again, no one really cares. I've been looking for a job, its honestly gotten to a point where I would sell my body had it not been covered in bruises and scars. I just want to get away, theres one way to do it but I'm too scared to do so.

  I walked around I knew I should go home before he woke up but I was scared. After about an hour I got home. It was hell. I cant explain how It felt for his fists to slam into my skin, ot how it felt for the knife to dig into my muscles, or even how it felt to scream out in pain as he thrusted into me. I don't know how to explain it, but I sure can explain how nice it felt to make those marks on my wrist or how nice it felt to watch the ruby red liquid drip down my wrists and thighs. I sure could explain just how much I wanted to die.

I laid on the bed I was molested on, the bed That held most of my memorys, the bed that I hated, and I went to sleep.

  I awoke the next day and went downstairs, this time I didn't cry out as the bottle was slammed against my head, I just cleaned it up. I did silently cry as I was groped but I was left alone soon enough.

I need a job.