Beaten In Lips - [boyxboy]

〔one〕

"C'mon! Fight back you shit!" My old man yelled at me, kicking me harder than the first blow. He picked me up by the collar of my shirt and threw me into the wall, making all breath leave my lungs as I fell to the floor in a heap of wheezing. He scoffed at me and kicked me once more. I coughed and forced myself to sit up, groaning loudly from the aching pain filling up my bruised body.

My head rested against the wall, still trying to catch the air that left me. At least it was over. It was never this bad, never. Everything went down hill when my mom left, disregarding him and going with the man she wished he was. She filed a divorce and my dad ended up getting everything, even me. At first it was just the heartache of my mom no longer being here, my dad turned to drinking and it become a thing on a daily basis. It was terrible, I've never been able to escape and I truly feel that I never will be able too.

I groaned and coughed, forcing myself to stand and manage my way down the hallway towards my room. This house was a prison, honestly. The walls were screwed up and patched, painted with different shades of the wrong color. It reeked of cigarettes and beer, almost like a bar.

I stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it for good measure. I flicked on the lights and stared at myself in the mirror for a good moment or two before deciding that I had to lift my shirt up. I bit back a groan and slowly lifted the piece of clothing, feeling the ache in my arms as I did so. My sides, damn were they bad. They were already beginning to bruise up and for a slight moment, I thought I might have broken something. This honestly wasn't so bad, this was something that I could ice down and everything would heal up in a few days time, but there was once that my dad had beaten me so badly that I screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear and they quickly rushed over, banging on the door and windows, demanding for someone to open the door before they called the police- which they were really close to doing, but in time my dad got to the door and assured that everything was alright and that I had only saw something that scared me. That was a very sad day for me, I was so close to freedom but then I had to watch as it slipped away with every punch drawn to my body.

I went out of the bathroom and went into my room, locking my door and carefully changing out of my clothes. I wrote a reminder on my mirror about going through the bathroom cabinets for some make up, that is if there was enough. I've gone to school many countless times with make up covering all the bruises on my face, so far everything has been working. I slipped under the covers on my bed and fell asleep, willing mtsel to not move so much.