Alone

Chapter 1

Adeline's POV~

I quietly opened the front door.It was 6 pm, and I was late.

Shit.

I slid my shoes off quietly, listening closely for any sign of my father.Nothing.I gripped my bag tightly and slid into the lounge, careful not to trip; I was very clumsy. Where was he? Should i be worried? No I shouldn't. All he does is hurt me, it doesn't matter.

"You don't matter either" said the voice in my head

"I know"

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I'm scared"

"You are so worthless you cant do anything for yourself"

I formed a fist with my hand and hit myself in the side of the head. Hard. I felt a bruise start to form quickly, but the voice was gone which was good.

I sprinted upstairs, slightly limping from the beating I got at school. A boy had thrown me onto the ground, put my leg partly in the middle of a door, and slammed it shut it repeatedly. Nothing to serious. Nothing I'm not use to already.

I made my way down the carpeted hallway. Still no sign of my dad. I started worrying. Even though he abused me, and yelled at me, and didn't trust me with anything whatsoever, he was the only family I had and if he was dead or something, I would have nowhere to go.

"He isn't dead you idiot get a grip"

I hit my self in the head again while walking down the hallway leading to my bedroom, passing my dads room, and office room we never went into, and the bathroom. A strong urge to go in there-to cut, to throw up- came over me, but I decided against it; I was to tired. I opened the door to my bedroom. Black clothes were scattered across the floor, and my bed sheets were tangled from when I woke up this morning.

I tossed my backpack onto the floor behind my door (rhyme time a/n) , and sat down on my bed, running my hand across the covers lightly, in a sad attempt to straighten out the wrinkles in the sheets out of the boredom that hit me every day as soon as I woke up until I fall asleep.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, suddenly there was a crash.

No, not a crash, a door opening. The front door.

Dad was home.

Its okay though, he doesn't know I was late right? He couldn't know for sure.. He could assume I was late, and then have a reason to hit me. Then again..

Since when does he need a reason?

Why was I so nervous about getting smacked around tonight for being LATE? He knows I don't have friends... (like he even cares)

I looked forward out my door, and down the hallway at the stairs. He was was at the top of the stairs already; obviously drunk, a beer bottle in his left hand, keys in the other. He stomped down the hallway, making his way to my room.

I shot up from my bed, and had my hands against the smooth white wood of my door, and pushed it shut as fast as I could.

Too late.

I didn't get a chance to close it all the way.

My dad pushed the door open, I let go of it and fell backwards, looking up at the muscular man standing about me.

"Get up faggot!" He shouted at me. His eyes were red, and his words slurred slightly. He HAD been drinking, like I thought. Probably out at the bar with his friends. They probably wouldn't be his friends if they knew how much of a dick he was.

"Dad your drunk, go to your room." I managed to squeak out, my voice barely audible.

"Don't tell me what to do you worthless piece of shit. Your just like your mother was, always trying to tell me what to do. Thinking you can control me."

"I-I-I was j-just trying to-" I started, then realized there was no point in trying to defend myself in anyway.

He took a step closer to me and dropped his keys and adjusted the beer bottle in his hand so it was now upside down, the remaining alcohol spilling onto the floor. I slid across my bedroom floor until I had backed myself against one of the walls.

"Don't move away from me you little shit." He stomped forward and grabbed my wrist tightly and pulled my fragile body off the ground . He lifted my arm above my head. "Dad stop you're h-hurting m-me," I stammered.

He lifted the now empty beer bottle over his head and looked down at me. I grabbed his arm and tried to pry it off, then started punching his chest,

"Stop! Get away from me!" I screeched, trying to pull myself free.

He let go of my arm and I went to run out of my room when he grabbed my hair and put his hand over my mouth. He moved his mouth down next to my ear, and the smell of alcohol making its way up my nose.

"Stop fucking screaming; the neighbors are going to hear you," My father paused and I could feel him smile.

"And you wouldn't want dad to go to jail now would you? Cause as soon as I get out, I would find you."

He paused.

"And I would kill you."

He let out a breathy laugh as I struggled to get his dirty hand off my mouth, my eyes welling with tears as I clawed at his hand. Death threat? The usual.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die..

Finally he let go; I let out a sigh of relief. He stumbled into my doorway, and before he left he turned around.

"Clean up this mess you made, you filthy shit" He said in disgust. Once again he laughed, and walked out my room slamming the door shut.

I realized I wasn't breathing and let out a deep sigh of relief and fell back onto my bed, looking up at my ceiling. I decided I would clean the "mess I made" up in the morning, I was to tired to do anything else but curl up in the middle of my bed and sleep.