Chapter 1
The sun shined through the curtains of my room illuminating the posters of my favorite bands on my wall. My clock reads 7:00 in the morning. My body lies motionless like a cadaver in a morgue. Tears stain the sides of my cheeks and create trails through the blood on my face. Pain shoots through me from the punches my father landed on me last night. The bruises I have to hide are growing in number and size. What have I done to deserve this? Am I really that bad of a person? These are the questions I ask myself every time this happens.
It first started when I was eight. I stood up to him when he raised his fist to my mother. She was drunk like every other night of the week. He tried to cut her off, but she fought him for the bottle. When he raised his fist I couldn't help myself I had to help her, after all no matter what she does, she is still my mom. I caught his wrist as he was just about to land. His face turned redder than candy apple gloss paint.
"Well son, you'd rather protect a drunk than let me punish her for her misconduct," he asked.
"Why are you hurting mommy," I respond. "She is just sick. Why were you going to hurt mommy?"
"Shut up!"
He raised his arm and back handed me across the face. I still feel the sting to this day. I still feel the betrayal of a father hitting his only son. I was only eight. Barely old enough to know what was going on and yet he hit me with such force that it made me collapse. When I hit the ground I looked up into his eyes and could see fire in his eyes. I could feel the hate that he had towards me. What did I ever do wrong?
Months passed by before he would do it again; except this time it was when he came home from work. He walked in the door, stormed up the steps to my room, and slammed it shut behind him. The punches rained down on my arms and chest. I tried to cover up, but he was so strong and so angry I couldn't stop him. I screamed for my mother but she never saved me; she didn't even answer. I saved her from his wrath, but she didn't have the courage to respond to me. After what seemed like an eternity he finally stopped and whispered in my ear, "If you tell anyone anything about this I'll make sure the last beating counts." After that the beatings became more frequent. Months would turn into weeks and then weeks turned into almost every day. He was never this angry before that day. Why is he so angry now?
My father's voice snaps me back to reality. " VICTOR!!!!!! GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF BED AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL!!!!!!! BUS IS HERE IN TEN!!!!!"
I move slowly out of bed feeling my muscles tighten as I pull myself up. I walk to my dresser and look in the mirror that sits on top of it. My normally tan skin is dyed red with dried blood and scars. My hair is matted down with sweat from my struggle. My nose is off set and the bruises that cover my body make it hard for me to breathe.
I pull open my drawer and find a black t-shirt that is covered with skulls and roses along with a pair of jeans. I throw them on quickly and attach my chains then walk into the bathroom and wash my face to rid myself of the horrors of the evil in my house. I stare at the reflection that stands in the mirror. A bruise pokes out from the neck of my shirt so I put on the cover up that my only true friend, Jessica Ramirez, gave me and apply it so that it blends in with my skin. I double check myself one last time before I walk out of the bathroom, down the stairs, grab my backpack next to the door and rush out of the door before my father can say anything to hurt me more. What a great way to start my senior year.
Chapter 2
I stand basking in the light and warmth of the sun as it hits my skin. My stomach rumbles and I realize that I forgot to grab something to eat on the way out of the house. I turn back to my house of nightmares. The outside looks beautiful compared to the stories that the walls hold. The rays of the sun make it look like a typical colonial that holds the typical happy American family. The bricks are a very sharp red that compliments the white shutters that sit around the windows. If only people knew the horrors that beautiful house keeps concealed.
