Worthless- Joshler

Chapter Three

warning; mentions of abuse 

I stumble out of the bathroom, my whole body screaming for me to just lie down with every slight movement. I use every table and wall in the house to help keep me standing as I look for Tate.

Limping into the kitchen, one hand on the wall and the other on my ribs, I see Tate sitting at the counter. He stops reading the paper, with his muffin in hand, and looks at me. 

Casually, he puts down the newspaper and looks at me. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I notice his eyes flicker down to me clutching my ribs. "Oh baby I'm sorry" He says, quickly pushing out his chair and walking over to me, holding me in his arms. 

The pressure from his grip pushes against my broken bones, making a low noise escape my lips. I slowly squirm free of his embrace and look him dead in the eyes. My stare turns cold, my eyes squinting and judging him without saying a word. "You know I love you baby" Tate says, his  head turns sideways, lip hanging open a bit, trying to look as desperate as possible.

If he was sorry he wouldn't keep doing it. But I still love him too.

"Tate I think my rib is broken" I say, my glare still stuck on his desperate expression.

He rips his eyes away from mine, he's not truly sorry is he? But why do I keep coming back to him? The highs we have are so high and amazing. the way he holds me when he's sober. the way he gives me small butterfly kisses when we watch movies. yet he hurts me so bad, and then acts like everything is okay. I should call someone. 

But who do I call? Tate doesnt let me leave the house or talk to any of my friends. I haven't been outside in a year. I'm too scared to try and leave. Im too scared of how he might hurt me. Hell, he might kill me if I tried to go outside. But would that even be bad? 

"It will heal baby, just go to bed." I obey him, involuntarily I walk to my room and lay down in my bed. Once we were dating for two months he took my phone away, and there aren't any land lines in the house. How am I supposed to get help.

--

As I lay In my bed, the pain in my chest is horrendous. Slow throbs in and out and in and out.

Suddenly, I hear a loud slam. The sound of the door slamming shut signifies Tate leaving the house. He's most likely going to get drunk again. Can I hide? He'll find me. Should I leave? No, I'm too weak to leave. I won't be able to get very far with a broken rib and a horrible limp.

Slowly, I decide to get up out of bed. This is one of the most painful experiences of my entire life. I put my hands behind me, slowly pushing my torso up onto a sitting position. With every movement I make my body aches, the soreness in my torso and my back speaks up. It screams once again, its continuously telling me to just get back into bed again and to rest. I don't want to be abused tonight though, not again.

--

eventually my body is in a fully upright position. Once I'm standing, my hand instantly flies to my torso, holding onto my rib to make sure I don't hurt any more than I already am. 

I slowly walk into the kitchen, noticing Tate left his iPhone on the counter. I extend my arm to reach for the phone, my fingers tightly grasping the small device. sliding the screen to unlock it, I press the phone icon, and type the number 9, then 1 twice. 

I stare at the number typed in, do I press call?

Before my brain has more time to contemplate what to do, my finger flies to the call button. 

"911 what is your emergency"

--

A/N alrighty we're goin somewhere have a good week