gone | lams fanfic

three

I slowly walked away from the school yard, and bolted home. I didn't want to be near anyone, and it's not like anyone wanted to be near me.

I walked up on my front porch and slowly opened the door, praying my father wouldn't hear me. I shut the door quietly behind me and started to creep up the stairs.

"John? Is that you? Why are you home?" I heard my father yell from the living room.

Dang it. I shut my eyes tight for a second and furrowed my eyebrows. "Yes, sir. It's me." I responded and walked down the the living room. I adjusted my posture and put my hands behind my back as I stood in front of my father.

"Why are you home so early?"

"I ran away during recess, sir."

"John. You can't do that. Get over here, you know the drill for misbehaving."

I gulped nervously and walked over to my father. I sat down next to him and braced myself for the pain. His hand collided with my eye. I could feel it start to bruise. Before I could even get over the pain, I felt a fist hit my cheek. I bit my lip and tried not to cry, otherwise I would be in much greater trouble. My father punched my gut. I  whimpered, it hurt so much.
"I think we're done here." My father said as he picked up the newspaper he was reading and leaned back.

I stood up, "Sorry, sir." I turned and walked up the stairs, wincing at every step. I opened the bathroom and quickly shut and locked it behind me. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror  and screamed. I looked.... terrifying. I had a black eye, and bruises all over the left side of my face. Not to mention that my stomach hurt like crazy. I hadn't eaten in a day, and then getting punched there didn't help either.

I set my elbows on the rim of the sink and looked down. I looked back up at myself. God, was I ugly. I looked like a monster. "Goddammit." I whispered under my breath. I had learned a lot of curse words from my father. Was it wrong to still love my dad? Because no matter what he did I still loved him. I still look up to him. Is that bad? Suddenly, I remembered something I had seen in a TV show once. It said it helped take away pain. Or at least, I think.

I rummaged around in the bathroom drawers for one of my mom's old razors. I carefully slipped the blade out and held it firmly in my hand. I looked back up at my reflection. The more I looked, the more angry it made me at myself. I pushed the blade into my skin. My breathing hitched. I bit my lip. It felt so painful, but so relieving. Like with every slit I made, it was another problem that didn't matter anymore. I cut until my entire arm was covered in blood. Until all my problems had gone away. I washed the blade off in the sink and stored it back in one of the drawers. I washed the excess blood off my arm and headed back into my room. I ended up falling asleep, dreaming about how being dead would be wonderful.

an// whoops
word count: 570 words