Myself- A Broken Creation

Chapter 1: Xander's P.O.V.

Dad stood in the large, wooden doorway with a half empty bottle of beer in his rough hand as he glared down at me. Mom just received a new stash of drugs yesterday, so she would be on wonderful vacations in her room all day long. She would never save me from my brutish father, anyway, because they both blamed me for Amy's death.

I quivered in fright as I looked up at my drunk father. He took large steps as he staggered towards me and I nervously skittered back from him. I knew I couldn't hurt him, as huge as he was. My father angrily growled at me and I flinched in response. I was still sore from yesterday's brutal beating.

He swaggered towards me with confidence and pushed me off the bed. I fell face first on to the hard, wooden, dusty floor. He sat down on my bed and tipped back his precious bottle, finishing it. The glass bottle conveniently slipped out of his hand, the glass breaking over my back.

I woke up from the terrible dream with a cry flowing from my lips. The room covered in black shadows only intensified my fear. I wasn't under a man's control anymore, I desperately tried to convince myself. I crawled over the cool, wooden floors to the yellow walls, breathing in musty air.

I trailed my fingers up the walls until I reached the small light switch and flipped it on. Artificial light flooded the small room and I climbed onto the bed with shaking hands. My body was a mass of trembling, fragile body parts for several minutes. The fear slowly melted away and a different, faintly familiar heat covered my body.

For days, this desire had been taunting and tempting me. I closed my eyes and willed it to leave me. It finally left, what felt like hours later. I shuddered and relaxed into the soft blankets, sleep overtaking me. My dream started off where I had woken up, to my horror.

Splinters of dark glass sliced into my pale back and I cried out in pain. The remaining pieces scattered onto the floor. I tried to get up, but my father slammed his foot onto my back and I slumped into a passive lump of skin. The sharp, pain - inducing shards dug into my small hand and the soft skin of my belly.I screamed as the thick scent of my blood filled the air, but I muffled the noise in the flesh of my arm.

"Stay down," He said in a slurred voice. "I went to my little girl's grave today and put her favorite flowers, the pink lily, on it. She would be ten if not for you!"

I wanted to heartlessly point out that it was his friends who had pushed his daughter down the stairs and broken her neck, but I said nothing. I knew it would get me a horrendously agonizing beating. I listened to my father go on a short tirade about how I was the reason for Amy's death.

I was used to this and offered no protest because I had learned long ago that I couldn't change what my father thought. I thought it was my fault anyway. My father believed it so deeply. Why wouldn't it be true?

"Since you desecrated your sister's body, I am going to desecrate yours," my father furiously growled.

My father started kicking me in the ribs again and again before I could comprehend what was happening. I cried out in agony. I knew my ribs were bruised, if not broken. He picked me up off the floor and punched me, landing a hit anywhere he could. Bruises blossomed across my skin like the petals of a flower blossomed in spring.

I screamed in pure pain as the glass sliced my skin, digging into it even deeper than before. My father froze in fear before slamming me against his body, his hand muffling my cries. I wiggled in the rough embrace, kicking my legs and arms in vain. I soon heard my mother's giggly voice.

"Frank!" She yelled. "What on earth is going on down there?"

"Oh, nothing, sweetheart. Just playing around with our sweet little Xander. "