Unforgivable

My Pain

I walked into my room and threw my bookbag in its usual corner. Flopping on my bed stuffing my face in a nearby pillow. The sun was going down slowly, it felt endless. The only thing I could hear was my dad yelling, the only thing I could see were my scars, the only thing I could feel was the pain from punches and kicks from today, and the only reason I'm still here is because I deserve every bit of this. It's hell, yes, but I deserve this. Everyone I've ever met I have caused pain, everyone I love dies, everything I touch shrinks into nothing.

"Marco get your ass down here!" my dad yelled. Before I reached the last stair a vase flew past my head. I flinched as my father grabbed my shirt collar and threw me into a wall. I winced at the pain that came from my head and cowered down to the floor trying to make time go faster.

My dad grabbed my head making me look up at him, "Get up," he demanded. I obeyed and got up carefully, "you know what to do," he said. I did know what to do. Monday-Friday I would get beat, but Saturday and Sunday he would do things that would make anyone want to puke.

I took my shirt off and let him tie the rope around my wrists and ankles. Thank God today was Tuesday. He put the rope around my neck so if I tried to cower I would choke. He turned away and grabbed a whip he named 'Big Red' not just because it was red or because it was thin and long, but because of the red marks, it left behind.

The whip made contact but my back was numb from the million times before. That didn't mean I didn't cry out or bleed, it just meant that it didn't hurt like the first time he ever did it. My mother came down the stairs after the third time and sat on a nearby couch. She began laughing at me as I kept crying and wincing. The cuts, that I had caused on my arm, were now open bleeding out.

"Don't be a sissy fight back," he said in my ear I shook my head not trusting my voice. I looked up and saw my mother watching him. She enjoyed watching never once had she participated, but she loves the idea of it. She was holding a beer bottle in her hand and threw it at me. She wasn't participating she was just having fun. Participating would be grabbing the whip. I looked back down to my feet and thought about what would happen if I lifted my legs.

I could just lift them and everything would be fine. If I didn't then I could continue my life sentence, forever. I took a breather as he chose his next weapon. He had many to choose from though.