House Arrest

Chapter 4

Warning: possibly triggering content. Read at your own discretion
                                  ~

My parents divorced when I was five. And a short custody battle ended with me completely under my dads care. However it was never really a fair fight. With my mother as an art-driven schizophrenic and my dad as a purebred liar, I was bound to end up with him. Soon after the divorce he took up drinking and gambling. I used to dread the nights where he'd lose big because then I became the punching bag. He was very strategic, even at his most drunk, only leaving bruises in hidden places and where accident tend to happen. To school teachers and neighbors, I was just a huge klutz.

I don't know what happened to my mother. As soon as she lost custody of me, she disappeared without a trace. Dad always joked that she jumped off a bridge. I never thought it was funny.

It was sitting here, a week into my house arrest, that I realized I had been partially punished in advance. All the beatings I took from my dad were because I killed Jacob. At least that made it seem even slightly reasonable. When you're six years old and have to worry about whether or not your dad broke even at the bar instead of planning a tea party for your imaginary friends, there's a problem. It never made sense. Now it did.

I was sitting on the floor in my bathroom, a pink razor on the tile in front of me. My eyes were fixed on the three blades. It's too easy. A single tear slid down my face as I remembered sitting in the same position in the floor in my room, only the circumstances had been incredibly different.

I quickly disassembled the razor and threw the plastic part away. My hands shook as I slid off my shorts, revealing an array of scarred symbols and lines. My fingers ran over them lightly before I picked up the blade.

I had only gotten one cut across my upper thigh when I heard a faint knock on the bedroom door.

"Shit." I breathed out, sniffling in the process.
I jumped up, struggling to throw my shorts back on. My face was red and blotchy, and my eyes showed the tears I've been crying.

Grimacing, I rushed to the door and pulled it open just far enough to show my face.

Alex was standing there, his hand on the back of his neck and his other hand up for another knock, "Hey, I was just coming to wake you up."

I turned to look at the clock in my room. 8:05. I mentally slapped myself; I should've known he'd come by. I turned back to him and nodded.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his hands dropping to his sides.

"Yeah, I'm great." I said, giving him a grin.

He scrunched his eyebrows, "You've been crying. Open up."

He nudged the door open and then we were facing each other. I tried not to let my face get warm when I noticed his eyes on my body. However, I realized my mistake as soon as he did. His eyes locked on the growing stain on my left thigh. A deep red bubbled against my green shorts and I looked up to see his face.

His eyes were dark orbs that radiated like a storm. His mouth was curled downwards into a frown and I thought I saw the slightest twitch in his jaw. He pushed past me and into the bathroom, where he saw the razors- one with blood on it. I expected him to hit me when he turned around. He seemed angry enough.