Tainted by You | ✔️

chapter 1

My eyes snap open to reveal a spinning room, the ceiling running in circles as I grip the edges of my cot for stability. I can nearly hear my heartbeat in my ears and my breaths are shallow. I had another dream. My nightmares are vivid, and I remember every single detail. I sit up, peeling my back from the sheet I am laying on. Warm sweat has seeped through my shirt, leaving a circular stain in the material under me. I sigh as I remember I'm in the same place I fell asleep in, my father's house. Every night I always believe that I'm going to wake up and smile at the warm smell of coffee and bacon, seeing my mother's face as she embraces me, watching Full House with her every single morning. I miss it more than anything. I'd give everything to be back at my old house with my mother.

I throw my blankets aside, and stand up to view myself in the mirror. I'm paler than ever and the red bags under my eyes seem to be growing by the day. I've lost weight, telling by the way my ribs poke out from my shirt and my arms have lost their strength. I turn and take in the dreary view of my room. A cot is in one corner, a bedside table in the other. A small gray and green rug sits in the middle of the floor, and the only sign of life is the sunshine streaming in through my window that's above my bed.

"Scott!" My father barks. "I made you breakfast, and you're gonna damn well appreciate it!" I definitely will, as this is my only prepared meal other than dinner.

"Yes sir." I reply, careful not to raise my voice to loud. I must address him as sir and never raise my voice. I head out of my room, and sit down at the table. I scrunch my nose at the putrid smell of cigarettes, and he sees it immediately and he shoots me a nasty glare. He throws down a plate of dry toast and oatmeal. I eat it greedily, constantly applauding his amazing culinary skills. If I don't, I earn another lash.

My father has a system. Every time I screw up, I earn myself a lash. Today I've already earned myself one lash. At the end of the day, he takes me to my room and lays me down. He'll take out his belt. There's no way out of it.

...

I head back to my room after I'm excused. The first thing that catches my eye is the framed picture of my mother and I. It was taken when I was fourteen, only three years ago. We stood in front of the empire state building, with our arms across each other's shoulders. That might've been the happiest we'd ever been. We lived better once my father left. My mother was always intimidated by him, he controlled every move she made. I am a splitting image of my mother, I have her lean build, pale skin, blue eyes, blonde hair. I only have fond memories of her, none bad. Everything she did, she always had me in mind.

When my father abandoned us, she took on three jobs to keep us stable. When i turned fifteen I got a job as a cashier to take some responsibility off of her, but she still worked so hard. My eyes threaten tears, as the gash in my heart is still fresh, and I have no intention of patching it back up. Whenever I get over her death, I feel I'll forget her. I never want to forget her face, but one day it'll wash away, never to be perfect in my mind again. I all too well remember that night. It was only two or three months ago. That's where my nightmares spawn from. Every single night I think of her, but some evil twist will be placed, and every night it's a new one.

...

As night approaches, I know my time for lashes come. I have been polite today, only screwing up two more times, totaling at three. At exactly 11 pm, I march to my father's room, letting the sweat collect in my palms as I completely know what is going to happen in the next fifteen minutes. Out comes my father from his bathroom, with an ugly smirk on his face, making his cracked lips stretch and darken. I am helpless. Nothing I do can stop this.

I lay on my stomach on his bed, letting myself relax. This isn't anything new. I've lived through this before, I'll live through it again. He slides out his belt from his jeans, and runs the hard leather across his hand before winding it up and slapping it at full force onto my back. A searing pain whips my back, making me yell out in pain, forgetting that making noise earns me another. He cackles and does it once more, losing his count as he does it far more times than I deserved. I cry out as I know this isn't any time soon. I am his burden. He doesn't want me. I've been cursed upon him, and he makes me pay for it.

...

I wake up, screaming and turning, pinning down my hands from grabbing my back. I can see bright red marks, each a foot long, tracing my back and sides. I counted the whole time. I deserved three, I got exactly thirty-seven. Quiet sobs escape my body from the agony, but I can't let him hear me. My pillow is warm and damp by the time the cries end, and I give up on trying to sleep for the rest of the night, knowing I'll be met with another nightmare anyways. I need an escape. I won't be able to take this any longer. I need to get out of here.

Thanks for reading my second chapter! I feel bad for Scott, even though this story is completely fiction. Poor baby :(

~Cassie :)