Abused

One

Winter:

My eyes snapped open at the sound of a piercing screech, jolting me out of my sleep. I sat up in bed, heart pounding against my chest, and tried to steady my breathing. I cussed under my breath. Moving quickly, I reached for the alarm clock, fumbling to turn it off before it could cause any more disturbance. After the noise had been silenced, I strained my ears, listening for any sort of movement. I breathed a sigh of relief wen I realised that they were still asleep. If I had woken them, I would have been in deep trouble. I made a mental note to myself to put the alarm next to me on the floor so I could shut it off quicker.

I took a few moments to stretch out my sore and aching muscles, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead. As I lay there, my eyes wandered around the sparsely furnished room. There were no decorations on the bland walls, and my few possessions were crammed into a couple of beaten-up cardboard boxes. I had no proper wardrobe or storage space. My sleeping arrangement was a simple mattress on the floor, topped with a pile of old blankets. It wasn't much, but at least I didn't have to sleep on the hard ground. I tried not to dwell on the bleakness of my surroundings, but sometimes it was hard not to feel overwhelmed by the starkness of my existence.

I let out a long sigh, stood up from my mattress and headed for a shower. I turned the shower on to warm up and washed my face, cleaned my teeth and stripped before getting in. I held in a squeal as the freezing cold water attacked me. I made a guess that my step-father had cut of my hot water again, but I didn't have an answer as to why he had done it. I couldn't think of how I had misbehaved this time. I carried on with my shower anyway, shivering from the cold. I quickly got out, dried off and wrapped my fathers old robe around me. It was tatted and torn in places but it did the job.

Once I was done in the bathroom, I headed downstairs to make breakfast. I firstly made sure the table was clean and the places were set out along with the knives and forks. After the table was set, I set to work on the food itself. I fried off some bacon, made some pancakes and drizzled maple syrup over them. Right on time, I placed the hot food onto two plates on the table just as Mother and Ian (My step father) entered the kitchen.

They didn't even spare me a glance as they sat down and started eating their food, talking amongst themselves. I quickly cleaned up the mess from the cooking and just as I was about to leave the kitchen I heard a chair screech backwards and clatter to the floor. I cringed away from the loud noise and spun around to find Ian on his feet, range dancing around his eyes. I gulped.

"Where the hell is the coffee?" He growled, advancing towards me.

As I backed away in fear, I quickly realized I wasn't going to get very far. Suddenly, my back hit the counter and my heart raced as I found myself trapped like a cornered animal. My eyes widened in panic. This was not good.

"How dare you forget my coffee?! You disrespectful little bitch!" He screamed, spit flying out of his mouth onto my face as he towered over me.

"Can't you get anything right?!" He growled. "We let you sleep, eat and wash here and this is how you repay us?!" He growled. Before I could even answer his fist came flying towards my face, knocking me off of my feet.

I cried out in pain and protected me head with my arms as he threw multiple punches and kicks at my body. "You stupid cow. Forget it again and you'll fucking pay!" He bellowed, throwing one more, painful kick to my stomach which left me gasping for air.

"Get out of my sight!" He growled, turning on his heel and going back to his food.

I scrambled to get up off of the floor and staggered up the stairs to my bedroom, with blood pouring from my nose and tears pouring from my eyes. I stumbled into the bathroom and gripped onto the sink, crying in a mixture of pain and exhaustion. I couldn't take it anymore. I had been beaten at least once every day since I was twelve. I had endured the emotional and physically abuse for five years. Unfortunately, I hadn't a penny to my name since the move resulted in me loosing my job, so I probably would have to deal with it for many more years to come.

I didn't have anyone to turn to about it either. I couldn't talk to people at school because I for one, didn't know anyone there yet as it was my first day, and also even if I did get to know some people there, I knew that telling them would result in more pain. I was completely alone. I wept silently as I grabbed tissues to clean myself up. My eyes were swollen and already bruised as was most of my face. Since I barely ate, my body was weak and bruised very easily. I sighed. I couldn't go to school looking like that. I washed my face with some cold water, took some painkillers which included some ibuprofen in an attempt to get the swelling to go down and then pulled out my make up.

A sad thing about my life was that I had more make up then I did clothes and I'm ashamed to admit that a lot of it, I hadn't paid for. I didn't have a lot of money and makeup is damn expensive! The money I did have was only enough to pay my way at home, and occasionally, some food. I only ate once a day on good days and it was usually porridge since it was cheap enough for me to buy and it lasted a while. Sometimes though, when I wasn't so lucky, I wouldn't eat for days at a time.

I turned my attention back to the makeup and tried my hardest to cover up my battered face. I thanked my past self for picking up the most full coverage products in the store. I did some pretty heavy eye make up and was sure I would get dress coded for it but I didn't really care about that. I did some burgundy eye-shadow with some thick dramatic black eyeliner and some false eyelashes. I bronzed up my face to make me look more alive and finished the makeup with some nude lipstick. I had to wear makeup a lot of the time to cover up the bruises so I had gotten quite good at it.

I brushed my long auburn hair and fluffed it up a little bit, pulled on some old black jeans, a white shirt and a burgundy coat that was a hand me down from an old friend back in California. I pulled on some old white converse that hardly fit me anymore, grabbed my beaten, black school bag and left the flat, locking the door behind me. I jumped into my old truck which was left to me by my real father and left to search for the school.

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A/N:

Hello :)

Welcome to this story, I really hope you liked this chapter and will enjoy the rest of the book. I have spent a lot of time and hard work on this and my other two books (which can be found on my profile) so I hope you like it.

Feel free to comment any criticism to help me improve and please vote, comment and follow me if you would like to.

Thank you

Kim xx