Rejected (l.tomlinson)

Chapter 2.

"Don't you worry child. Heaven's got a plan for you." -John Martin, Don't You Worry Child

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Daire's POV

I pull up into the drive, and turn the car off, not wanting to face what's inside my house. Even though I've done absolutely nothing, I know I'll still get beaten, just for being myself. 'How can I even say I'm "being myself", when I don't even know who I am anymore?' I thought. It was true. I don't know who I am, except that worthless bastard that deserves to die. Oh well, something to think about later.

"There you are! Get in here, hurry up!" Steven yells at me.

As I step inside, I see he's waiting for me in the kitchen. I stand there frozen for a second, wondering wether I should make a run for it upstairs, and take the beat later, or take it now. I decided on now, making an attempt to show that I'm not afraid of what he's got in store for me. I wasn't sure why, but for some reason, I got this feeling that tonight was going to be terrible. And I was right. He was slightly drunk, and he seemed extra mad today.

"You know I heard you this morning! I was trying to get some peaceful sleep, and then here you come along, sounding like a heard of elephants, making the floor squeak! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" Steven slurred, almost to the point where I couldn't tell what he was saying.

"I..I....uh..," I sputtered, trying to find words.

That's when he slapped me.

"I NEVER SAID YOU COULD TALK!"

My cheek was hot. Real hot. And I knew it had just begun. Thankfully, my mum wasn't here to pitch in her daily dose of smacking me.

Steven then let it all out on me. Smacking, hitting, punching me to the ground. He stopped for a second, and I knew it was only so he could admire the damage he had done already. My face and arms were red and bruised and swollen, that I knew without having to look. I also knew that he was opening self inflicted razor scars on my arms. And it burned so bad. I prayed to God that it would be done now, but I was wrong. He then kicked me, HARD. Right in the stomach. I couldn't move. I just threw up. An even then, I still didn't move.

"Ugh! You are sick! CLEAN THIS UP AND GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Steven shouted.

I slowly got up and cleaned the mess, then limped upstairs as fast as I could.

I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, not because I wanted to, but because I felt that I had to, and I was...terrified of what I saw. I didn't look like myself. Half swollen face, red all over, cuts, bruises, pale skin, bags under my eyes. The green in my eyes wasn't glowing at all, but was very dull. It was always bad after a beating, but never this bad. I was a monster, and that's exactly why I did what I did next. I grabbed that razor, and cut, and cut, and cut. For every single bruise on my arms, legs, stomach, and face. There was blood running down my arm, and lots of it. It was a sick, twisted way of letting out all of my frustration and pain. And in a sick, twisted way, it worked. But something wasn't right this time, I was losing a lot more blood, and it didn't stop.

Then the worse happened. There stood Steven in the doorway, and he saw everything.

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Hello there, Elaine here! Well here's chapter 2, hope you like it! I know there's not a lot of Louis and his gang, but they will be coming up very soon! As always, comments please! Chapter 3 and more tomorrow! Stay sexy(; ~Elaine Cook (: