My Hope (Louis Tomlinson FanFic) *Completed*

Chapter 1

Warning: This chapter deals with abuse and alcoholic behavior

*Kayla's POV*

     "KAYLA!" my father's voice roared from upstairs. From the sound of his voice, he was either mad, drunk, or possibly both. The one thing I knew for sure was that he was angry, there was no hiding that fact.

     I quickly ran up the stairs from my room to the top floor. My father was there in the landing area. The landing upstairs had a TV, pool table, trophy case, two leather couches and a beer fridge. It was father's favorite place to be when it comes to this house. That is, it has been since mum has been gone.

     Father stood by his beer fridge, holding an already empty beer bottle in his hand. His eyes are bloodshot and his hands are shaking from the alcohol flowing in his body.

     "Where is my beer, Kayla?" he asked me in a calm voice, looking into the empty fridge. He looked back up at me, expecting an answer, but knowing he wouldn't get one. "I said: Where. Is. My. Beer?"

     As I looked down towards the ground, shuffling my feet hopelessly, father turned his head to look at me.  I met his gaze again to see an evil glint in his eye this time. His eyes were dark and bloodshot as they always are when he's drunk and angry.

     I watched as he reached behind him for something which I could not see. I knew that if  I tried to move, I would regret it immensely. This being said, I just stood there hopelessly as my father pulled one of his empty beer bottles out from behind his back. I already know what was coming, and I knew I couldn't do anything to stop him.

    He drew his arm back and launched the beer bottle towards my head. It shattered on impact and I could already feel the blood start to go down the side of my head. I fell to the floor in a heap, holding my head as choked sobs came from my mouth. Father slowly walks over towards me, bending down to look at my head closely. His seemingly soothing touch removed my hand from the spot of my head which was bleeding, cradling my head with his other hand.

     "Poor child you are. Nobody to love you, to care for you...maybe that's why your mother killed herself all those years ago." That was a lie and he knows it. He knows what happened to my mother.

      Father chuckled darkly before slamming my head into the ground with his hands. I whimpered in pain at the impact of the floor. tears rolling down my face as the pain came. He stood up slowly, reaching his full 6'4 height and towering over me.

     "Pathetic," he spat, staring down at me. He shook his head and looked at me with pure hatred and distaste. "How could I have raised a disappointment?"

     More tears rolled down my face as I watched him go. He grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and threw on a pair of sandals and his coat.

     "Clean up this mess while I'm gone, and don't even think of going anywhere while I'm gone," he said from the doorway. He took one last satisfied glance around the room before going downstairs and leaving, slamming the door behind him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     I groaned in pain as I finished picking up all the pieces of shattered glass off of the floor. Throwing them away, I looked around. The room was as clean as it always is when father is gone, spotless. Of course, this is how the house was supposed to look, nothing less than perfection. All for my father to mess up again.

     I wiped away what I though was sweat from my forehead. Bringing my hand down to my face, I saw that this was not the case, but it was indeed blood. I had wanted to make sure that the house was spotless for when father came home, that way he wouldn't have a reason to beat me again. Then again, he always found a reason. Since I've been so busy cleaning, I didn't have the chance to clean myself up and my injuries.

     I dragged myself into the bathroom to clean myself up, looking in the mirror for only a second let me see how bad my injury was. I pulled out my first aid kit quickly, trying to find what I would need, but not finding the peroxide I needed to clean the cut. I then remembered that I had used it all last week, when father had cut my leg. I groaned in frustration. This meant that I had to sneak out of the house again to get the supplies I needed to survive.

    I simply try to wash the wound out with water and soap, only to find our water has been cut off. Of course father forgot to pay the bills again.

    A door slammed from downstairs. This means father is back. Probably with more beer. That means more beatings for me.

    I slowly come out of the bathroom to find father passed out of the couch, obviously drunk to no end. His new bottles of beer sat on the floor beside him, untouched. I took them from the floor and put them in his beer fridge before going back downstairs to my room.

     I know I needed to get out of here, but how?

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Can we get 3 votes for the next chapter to come out?