entry 365 ➸ harry styles

XI

a/n; this chapter DOES NOT follow on from the last one. it takes place a few years prior to the car accident myla was in with her family. i figure scenes from the past will be cropping up a lot, so to make things easier ill put past occurrences in italics, and the present ones as normal.

TW: ABUSE.

{ nobodys home - avril lavigne }

i sleepily rubbed my eyes, staggering my way into the living room where my parents voices were. they'd been arguing for a good two hours by that point, i just wanted sleep.

the love had died between my parents years ago, the love for power arose in my father.

he was not my father though, and i was not his daughter. my father was dead to me and in his position was a monster.

no longer did he cherish his daughter or wife's company or speak our names with softness. he was so full of suppressed rage and his only targets were us.

at first, there was guilt in what he did to us, he made futile attempts to stop.

but with each foul, hurtful blow he found delight. he enjoyed beating his fists into my fragile skin; and that's when i knew id lost my father.

i tiptoed stealthily down to the living room, and creaked the door open slightly. i saw my parents verbally fighting, but at least things had not gotten physical yet. it was my job to try and stop it from getting to that point.

for if he was to hurt us, there would be no evidence. no doctor. we were silenced by him.

"m-mom, d-dad" i called out, slowly pushing the door open. both my parents snapped their heads to me, and i was surveyed their expressions, i knew which one wanted to hurt me.

my mom looked at me through her glassy, grey eyes and forced a smile. she was broken, "myla, sweetie, go back to bed. everything is fine" she more pleaded than anything. she knew what he would do if i stayed in his presence any longer.

i shook my head, knowing id only live to regret it.

my dad stifled a chuckle, and before i knew it he was making his way over. his hands were clenched with rage, but i was not scared. he didnt have power over me mentally, and he never would.

his fist collided my hollow cheeks, causing me to fall to the ground. but even that was nothing compared to the first time he hit me.

my mom was screaming, panicking at the harsh sound the collision made. but when she tried to reach out to me he hit her too; he pummeled her stomach, the very stomach that carried his children. the stomach of the woman he said 'until death do us part' to.

until eventually he did the same to me. maybe i shed a tear or two, i dont recall. if i cried, he'd only hit me harder and give me something to truly want to cry about.

that was the man who had held me to his chest when i was a baby, that was the man who took me out for ice cream when id grazed my knee. but all great things come to an end.

so there i laid, with a fractured rib and bruised skin. wondering what i did to deserve the abuse.

father, you pierced my soul and made me skeptical about love. and i will never forgive you for that.

entry 11;

dear diary,

these memories are becoming unbearable. these flashbacks are tearing me down, i dont know how much longer i can take it.

i cant keep thinking of him.

he turned me into this broken mess, even if hes dead and i will never see him again, his touch is still with me.

i remember every single word he said, the voice inside my head is no longer my own.

but instead its his, reminding me ill never be good enough for anyone.