3 YEARS LATER
Shortly after my 16th birthday, which was only acknowledged by a less brutal beating than usual but for me, it was always a plus. It was summer, and I had been given the 3 month rest bite from the hellhole I call school. It was one of the best summers I had ever had, though the beatings from dad had gotten more intense, I didn't have to see him too often, because Joe would give me the keys to the gym and let me keep training after he had left. Tonight was one of those nights, even though I had to go back to school in the morning I trained till late, because I didn't want to deal with my dad that night so I figured if I stayed an extra half hour he would either be passed out in a puddle of his own vomit or he'd be out and he wouldn't return for the night by the time I got home. So I kept pummelling the punch bag, counting down the minutes until I would be somewhat safe. The walk home proved uneventful, though I got a few looks from people on street corners but, no one spoke to me. I took this as a good omen, and hoped that I would be safe from my dad that night.
Never in all my life had I been so wrong. When I opened the door he was there, he dragged me by my hair into the front room, and smashed my head down onto his knee, giving me a bloody nose. He ripped my head back up and punched me with his free hand, letting me fall to the ground. Kicking me in the ribs he screamed at me to get up, delivering more swift kicks to my ribs when I didn't do it fast enough. I heard a sickening crunch, as he kicked me once more before leaving me shaking on the ground. He came back shortly, and threw some material on top of me followed by something hard, but not so hard it hurt when it landed on me "Put that on, you have 10 minutes, and then I will come and get you." As I tried to sit up, agony sored through my body, causing me to whimper and stop trying to sit up. My dad came back into the room, and seeing that I was still on the sticky carpet dragged me by my hair to my feet. It took every ounce of self-control not to scream out at the pain which did not go unnoticed by him. After pushing me towards the stairs I slowly started to climb them to the bathroom, taking the stuff he had thrown at me earlier along with me.
I realised that the little glass bottle was foundation, and he had given me a black skater dress, to put on, so I covered my bruises, and put on the dress, hoping not to get another beating. Putting on my beat up old plimsolls was a task, but I managed to do it without bending down. Just then he started shouting for me to go downstairs before he dragged me down, so I made my way down the creaking stair well to face him. He looked me over, checking my face for bruises, and then glanced down at me he handed me two pills "Take these then get your fat ass in the car" I nodded, and climbed in the car, as my limbs started feeling light, and my mind started to feel fuzzy.
YOU ARE READING
Memoirs Of a survivor
Action"You're an animal, you're a dog, you will always be a dog, and there's nothing you can do to change that" "You will do as you're told" "Come here and clean this up" All comments that had been shouted at Scarlett Fletcher. Her school life is bad, a...
