Daughter of the Dammed and Damaged

Time

     (This is the music you listen too later in the story)

     Today was the day. You had everything set up, and it was all going to go according to plan. You were going to stay at your friend's house one night, and after that, you would just run. You had to get away. He had gone too far.

     Your father had always said he would never hurt you, that he loved you. That he did everything for a reason, and that's the reason was you. You didn't even think he knew what love was. Your mother died when you were just five, and he said it was an accident, until you found out the symptoms of her mystery illness lined up with those of a deadly poison. You wouldn't be surprised if he had killed her.

More recently, he had started yelling at you. More than yelling. Blaming. He'd point out your flaws, and make every bad thing seem  like it was your fault, until you were a crying mess on the ground. He would always walk out laughing.
     Last week had been the final straw.

-------flash back brought to you by Bill Cipher-------

     It was a quiet night, and you walked through the door of your house. You tossed you school bag onto the chair, and put your jacket in the closet. You slipped your shoes off and put them next to your bag. The atmosphere felt tense, so you picked up your bag and proceeded with caution. You creeped through the living room, and into the kitchen. Your father was sitting in one of the chairs, a blank expression on his face.

     "So the little slut is back from school?" He said. Your dad had never sworn directly at you, and you took a step back in surprise.

     "Well? Are you going to talk?"

     "Yeah, I'm back." You turned to walk to your room, eager to exit the conversation.

     "I never said you could leave, (y/n)." He said, a lilt in his voice. "I worry about you, (y/n). Now be honest; are you seeing someone?" Jim hummed, raising a brow expectantly.

     You sighed. He really was too over protective. It's not like anything had happened, it's just you had a small crush on a kid. No big deal.

     "I'm just friends with one or two boys. Nothing's going on." That came out more snarky than expected. Oh well.

     "We both know that's not quite true, (y/n). Now tell me again, are you in a relationship?"

     "No dad." Which was true, you weren't. You just wish you were. 

     "Fine. Just lie to your father see how that works out. Go to your room and do your homework."

     You knew he would continue this later. You marched up to your room and flopped down on your bed. You had already done your homework during a free period, so you decided to listen to music. You took out your phone, and put on your earbuds. You decided to listen to Time by Pink Floyd.

     You lay down on your bed, and just began to think. You thought about your day at school, and your friend Jessica. She made jokes every opportunity she got, and they never failed to make you laugh. You thought about Sam, the boy you had a crush on. He was good looking, but you wouldn't pick him out as the most handsome. You liked him mostly for his humor and intellect. He was pretty much the only person you could have a good debate with, but that day there were no debates to be had. You just talked about music. He had introduced you to Rush, and you had liked it. You wondered if telling him about your crush would ruin your friendship.

     Your mind turned to darker thoughts, like your past failures. You hadn't failed in school, but you had often lashed out at those trying to help you. Your pent up rage, and grief ran amuck through your mind.

     'You're the reason mom died.'
     'You've never been good enough'
     'Don't you realize they all hate you'
     'Your father hates you most of all.'
     'Dad wouldn't like Sam'
     'Sam never really liked you. He's using you'
     'Jess probably talks about you behind your back'
     'You gonna cry you pansy bitch?'
     'Baby's gonna cry'
     'Fat baby is going to cry'

     It went on and on. You cried to yourself. You wanted it to stop. You sat up, and turned  looked in your mirror. You wiped off your face, and applied more makeup to cover up the fact you had been crying. Your father wouldn't like it if you were crying. You changed out of your school uniform and into your pajamas. It was a loose fitting tee and some sweat pants. You walked back downstairs and through the kitchen. You entered the living room, and your father, Jim, sat on one of the couches, cleaning his gun. You sat across from him and turned your music up all the way. You could hear nothing around you.

     "(y/n)? I'm doing something right now. Could you leave please?" He asked. You of course, could not hear him.

     "(y/n), I'm not in the mood for games." Again, you could not hear him.

     "Get out." You didn't hear him, but he thought you weren't paying attention. He turned his attention downwards, and loaded his now clean gun.

     "(y/n),  I'm warning you, get out" Still, you did not hear.

     Lightning fast, Jim picked up his gun, and shot. You jolted up at the sound, and the sudden tearing pain in your shoulder. The bullet had only grazed it, but it still hurt. With a yell of surprise, you clutched your shoulder and all but ran to the bathroom. You slammed the door with your good arm, and sat down. You lifted your hand off your shoulder, and it was covered in blood. You hastily unrolled some toilet paper, and held it to your arm to try and stop the bleeding. You started to cry.

     You reached into the medicine cabinet and grabbed the ACE bandages. You dropped the toilet paper and wrapped your arm. There was a knock on the door, and it certainly wasn't your father. You opened it, and Sebastian walked in. He had always cared for you, he just never voiced it. He would always help you after your fights with Jim. He assessed your bandaging job, shook his head, and began to properly treat your wound.

-------end of flashback-------

You shoved two days worth of clothes into your school bag, and rushed downstairs. You grabbed a piece of bread and an apple, and walked out the door. You got on the school bus, and began to eat.

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Well, I had fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.