*WARNING: SELF-HARM AND ABUSE PRESENT* I'll let you know when it comes up so you can skip it and when it's safe*
*EDITED*
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I'm standing in front of my mirror looking at my face. I look horrible and feel pathetic.
As soon as I had stepped through the door to my house and turned around a fist flew at my cheek making me hit the floor. Hard. So hard that when I put my hands out to break my fall, I hurt my wrist. On top of that my ribs, obviously, hadn't healed and I got a few kicks there making my breathing short and rough. I even had a bottle hurled at my back. It was thrown so hard that it broke against my back and now I have a few shards of glass I can't reach. I've been trying to get it out, but to no avail.
As I look at my face, and grip the sink, I realize how bad I look. I have a bruise forming from where his fist met my face, along with a cut on my eyebrow from a previous beating from
him. I have bags under my eyes from all those sleepless nights and I look pale beyond compare from throwing up a couple minutes ago. My eyes travel from my reflection to a shiny silver blade on the corner of my sink. I pick it up and just twirl it in between my fingers.
No.
I set it down on the corner of the tub and turn to the bath. I cork the tub and start the water filling up the bath. I pour some soap in to make bubbles and then strip down. I look in the mirror again and just sigh. I take off my bandages and look at all of the large dark bruising around my ribs. I sigh once more and struggle to sit down in the tub. Once I'm in, I relax in the hot water and slug down.
As soon as I settled down everything came in a rush. All that has happened to me and all of the pain and suffering swirled in my head. With all the thoughts swarming my mind I closed my eyes and cried. I wanted to scream and just let it all out. But I couldn't. I wanted to but I couldn't. That is the basis of everything in my life. Me wanting to do something, but the incapability to do it.
I wanted to leave, but I
couldn't.
I wanted to fight back, but I couldn't.
I wanted to give up, but I couldn't.
I wanted control, but I had
none.
I want to die, but I
can't.
****Skip for triggers****
I open my eyes and look over to my blade. I reach for it and look at it for a second before swiping the sharp silver across my arm. Over and over until red was all I saw. I cut my arms and thighs. I normally cut on my stomach and legs too, but my ribs were hurting to much to bend down and cut my legs, let alone cut my actual stomach . Some were deep and some shallow, reflecting the thoughts that came across my mind at the time. After I could feel no more I dropped the blade outside my tub and stared at the water and the bubbles as they slowly turned pink and then red.
****End for trigger****
I closed my eyes and placed my head back. All I was seeing was red and black dots. I let out one last breath as I let the darkness take over.
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When I opened my eyes I was still in the bath tub. I made a move to get up but then groaned in pain. I struggled through the pain and drained the tub. I turned on the shower and rinsed off all the blood from my body. I winced as the soap ran over all my cuts. I stepped out of the shower and dried off. I looked at the time and it was one thirty on the morning. I was passed out in the bed for an hour or so.
I went to my room and got dressed and was about to get in bed when I realized I hadn't eaten. So I walked over to my sock drawer and took out a bag of chips and a blue Gatorade. I sit down on my bed and eat my cheddar chips and drink my Gatorade. When I'm done I throw the chip bag away and hide my Gatorade in my nightstand.
You may be wondering why I keep food and drinks in my sock drawer. Well it's because I don't like to leave my room a lot, for a fear of him seeing me and beating me again.
So I just keep food in here, and when I'm low on supplies, I just re-stock.
After throwing everything away, I just lied down and tried to sleep. I settled on lying on my back and soon was taken over by the numbness titled sleep.
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Okay yay chapter 5 is done. Sorry it's a bit short. I'll try and make the rest a bit loner if that's what you guys would like. Once again let me know how you are feeling about the story and let me know of any suggestions you have.
Alright by loves!
-A
YOU ARE READING
Broken
RandomI was six when my mother died. My father was never the same after. He said he loved me. He said he could never hurt me. Fucker lied. _________________________________ Okay so I know a lot of you have abuse, self-harm, and suicide triggers so I'l...
