Blink

The Drill Serjeant In the Floral Print Dress

"Goddamn it Brandy, why do you have to be such a fucking whore!?" he spits in my face. All I could do to keep from breaking into tears was bite my lip and look down at the floor because I knew that crying would just make him angrier. The same blue eyes that had once held so much admiration, now held only spite and loathing.

"Answer me when I'm fucking talking to you!" And I couldn't help but flinch as I whispered "I didn't cheat on you," knowing what was coming next.

*SLAP*

Next thing I knew I was on the ground holding the throbbing cheek that I was sure would bruise the next day.

"YES YOU DID, I KNOW YOU DID! I don't know why I even put up with you, all you ever do is sleep around. And you're not that good of a lay."

With that, he began kicking me repeatedly in the stomach and face. After a while I stopped counting the kicks, I just worked towards shutting my brain down, becoming numb. But of course, that's not what Michael had in mind. Every time I would come close to entering the waiting arms of unconsciousness, he would stop and wake me back up just so he could continue beating me while I was awake. I don't know how much later it was, it could have been minutes, hours, or days, but he finally stopped. Before he left he leant down and whispered in my ear "Just remember that you're mine, bitch. Pull this shit again and I will end you." I watched his broad back as he went. After he left I fell unconscious at last, letting go of the pain I was feeling now, and the fear that I felt for the future.

As I came to it was all I could do to keep from screaming in pain. I could feel at least three broken ribs, probably dozens of bruises all over my body, several cuts where my skin had broken open, a split lip, and at least one black eye. I pulled myself to my feet, trying to ignore the throbbing pain that I felt almost everywhere. Well, at least he left your legs alone, I thought. After hours of slowly making my way home, I unlocked my front door and stumbled inside. When I entered the living room my mom glanced up from the TV, looked me over, then returned to the world of game shows and reality tv.

"What did you do this time?" She asked, not even caring about the answer. I could tell by her unfocused gaze and the way her words were slurred together that she had been drinking, and quite a lot if the smell was anything to go by. I went upstairs to try to fix myself up. I knew I should probably go to the hospital for any broken bones I may have, but it's not like I have the money for that sort of thing. Michael has broken my bones before, and each time they've healed. I went into the crummy bathroom across the hall from my room and locked the door. 

Looking in the mirror I saw a large purple bruise covering most of my right cheek and a black eye on the same side. My bottom lip was split and bleeding. I stripped off my shirt, careful not to brush my ribs, and looked down. What I saw almost made me sick. Most of my chest was black, purple, and yellow, the unnatural colours contrasting strangely with my alabaster skin. Many of the bruises were already swelling. Accidentally bumping my arm in a way that made fire shoot through it, I cussed. The bastard had dislocated my shoulder. There were also a few shallow cuts scattered here and there, but I wasn't worried about them, they would heal on their own. I brought out the bottle of liquor that my mother didn't know I knew about, took a swig to help with the pain, and set about the task of resetting my shoulder. I had done it before, but that didn't make it any easier. I put a washcloth in my mouth and bit down to keep from crying. Reaching behind my head with the injured arm, I gasped in relief as it popped back into the socket. When I was done I took three Excedrin, went into my room, and changed into a pair of shorts and a sports bra. I took a quick glance around my room. Barely even 10 by 12, the only furnishings in my small living space were my bed, dresser, a mirror, the punching bag and stand I was able to save up for two years ago, and a bookcase that my dad and I had built when I was five. Sighing, I pulled back the thin covers on my crappy mattress and fell in. I curled up with my knees to my chest, and with that, fell asleep.