Let Him In

Let Him In - Chapter 3/7 ("Admitting")

*****     Please be advised that this work contains possible trigger warnings! There are mentions of abuse, drug use, and rape/non-con elements! Thank You!!     *****

          ***************************************************************************

You open your eyes to find that you're inside a run-down, smelly, old motel room - but it's not just any motel room. This is the room that your life changed in.

Your parents were hunters before you were born (your dad becoming one after a werewolf killed your grandfather, and your mom marrying into the life), but they divorced when you were eleven. They had agreed that they wanted you in the life, but they had to split their time with you. Being they had to split their time with you, you would spend six months of the year with your mom - helping with research and staying (mainly) out of the line of fire while she and your aunt (your mom's sister/new hunting partner) would partake in the action - and six months of the year with your dad (who honestly stopped giving a damn about you around a year after the divorce). You were just too much of a reminder of your mom; You were too much of a reminder of all the things he lost, of all the things that could've been, of all the happy times, and of all the bad times. It was all too much for him.

But after your mom and aunt's death (thanks to a Djinn case that went horribly wrong) soon after you turned fourteen, you were left with your dad - and only your dad. And to say that you were in a living hell would actually sum it up pretty well (and you're friends with the Winchester's, so you know all about hell and what it has to offer).

This memory that you found yourself stuck in was one that took place when you were almost fifteen, nearly seven months after you had been living full-time with your dad. The abuse that he inflicted had already been happening for over a year (even when your mom was alive, although she didn't know about it. Nobody knew, and you made sure of that). But that day, in this motel room, was when it wasn't just drunken, hurtful slurs and the occasional handprint or bruise marring your body. No - this was when everything changed.

The slam of the motel room's door pulled you from your thoughts and into the present situation. You looked up to see none other than your father, drunk, and leaning back against the door while staring at you. Your gaze shifted from him to the floor, you didn't want to provoke him, even though you knew - just by his stance and the very room you're standing in - what was about to come your way. Your dad slams his keys down on a little stand by the door, and then begins to make his way to you.

"You know, you've got some nerve goin' around here, treatin' me like shit, not carin' about no damn thing."

You knew what this was about. You looked around and saw that you hadn't cleaned up his old beer bottles from the night before, and you had a pair of jeans, a tank top, and a few toiletries lying out on your bed - not put away like they were supposed to be.

"I mean I ask you to do one, simple thing, (Y/N). One thing. And ya' can't even do that. Damn, you really are worthless, huh?" He drunkenly slurs as he slowly makes his way over to you, like a predator stalking his prey.

"But I think that I know a way that you can make up for that."

You're dad slurs out as he continues to make his way over to you.

Before you know what's happening, you feel a sharp sting across the side of your face. You fall to the ground, and in your haze of pain and shock, you swear that you can hear a familiar voice. It's not your dad's voice, but it is one that you know quite well. You just can't seem to be able to place it.

You push your thoughts aside and let your mind focus on one thing and one thing only, and that's getting to the door.

You turn from your side to your stomach and try to burst up and into a sprint for the door (as best you can given your dizzy state), but you're stopped by a pair of large hands grasping your ribcage. Your dad lifts you up, squeezing as hard as he can. You let out a yelp of pain, followed by a moan as you realize that you've now hit the ground - and hard.