Circumlocution ≫ Jarchie

[Chapter Two]

Trigger Warning: abuse.
Five Years Ago

"Good for nothing piece of shít." The man slurred, the harsh sound of a slap echoing against the thin walls of the small lonely house on the corner of the street. His victim whimpered at the sudden attack, clutching his red tinted cheek in pain.

The man had been drinking again, but when wasn't he drinking. The tangy smell of the poison spilled into the air as it left his chapped lips, accompanying many more insults and indecipherable slurs.

"Where's your sister?" He grumbled, roughly pulling at the young boy's wrist to guide him towards the stairs.

"She's not here, she's sleeping over at a friend's." The boy managed to choke out, his brain too overwhelmed with pain to perform such a simple response without hesitation. It was a blatant lie, his sister was locked in the attic where the boy left her.

She was safe that way.

"You're useless." The boy's father spat, pushing his son roughly into the edge of the staircase, causing the boy to cut his lip open. The familiar metallic taste and smell of blood began to flood the boy's senses as his father stood over him, grinning.

He was used to the constant bleeding, but he would never learn to like the taste of it.

"Jughead. Get up, get out of my sight." His father seethed, shooting his son a glare with his soulless pair of eyes; the same pair that were once a whimsical green.

But that was before the accident. That was before she left.

Jughead did as he was told, shakily making it up the stairs. He didn't suffer too much damage this time. A cut lip, a slap to the face, and a few kicks to the ribs, nothing too big. The raven haired boy sighed when making to the bathroom, leaning down and grabbing the make shift first aid kit from the bottom cabinet under neath the sink.

He got up, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

He hated it.

His raven hair was tussled, uneven, and plain unruly. He didn't see the point of even trying to do it anymore; his dad always messed it up when he got home anyways.

His eyes were dark and shaded, a dull greenish blue that once sparkled like the ocean, and glistened like diamonds in the sun.

He frowned at the gash in his chapped lips, raising his hand up to touch it, only to flinch at the pain that began to pulse harder. He rolled his eyes and gazed at his arms reflected in the dirty glass.

He sighed at how skinny they were, and how skinny his body was period. He rarely eats, and that's mostly because his father never really bought food. Any food his dad did bring home, Jughead made sure to give it to his sister, Jelly Bean.

He hated how he looked, and he hated himself so much.

He continued to stare at himself in the mirror, starting to break down. His arms became weak, dropping to his sides and his eyes quickly filled up with tears. All he wanted to do was smash his awful reflection into pieces.

He wanted to smash himself into pieces.

Tears fell from eyes, splattering onto the chipped counter of the worn down sink as his body shook heavily. He wanted it to stop.

He wanted everything to stop.

Useless

Stupid

Good for nothing

A mistake

Ugly