Broken: Emily's Story

4

I sat in the alley for a while. I lost count of how long I sat there, bleeding. At some point, I noticed that it got darker.

I finally come back to myself. I stare dumbfounded at the amount of blood on my arms. Who knew I could bleed this much?

I stand up. And then I just stand there, waiting for the sudden dizziness to pass. It finally does and I open my eyes. I pocket the shard of glass.

I look around, suddenly aware that someone could see me. No one is nearby. Holding my arms to myself, I exit the alley. I run back to my house. When I get there, I run through the front door and to my room before Drunk-As-Fuck Dad sees me. I close my door behind me and head to my bathroom. I turn on the light.

My arms look worse in the light, practically glistening with blood. I feel sick as I'm staring at them.

I shake my head and turn on my shower. I quickly pull my clothes off and step into the shower.

I put my arms under the hot water and almost immediately pull them back. My arms are on fire, the pain soaring through my whole body. I whimper softly, whispering, Fuck, this hurts, over and over again. Tears pool in my eyes.

Slowly, I put my arms back under the water, gritting my teeth from the pain, my breaths coming out in hisses. Eventually, the pain is manageable and I clean the blood off of me. I look at my arms closely.

Deep, red lines are etched into my skin. They go up and down my arm, like angry slashes. A few of them cross over other ones, form a deformed, red X.

I quickly look away. I turn off the water and dry myself off. I throw my clothes back on and enter my room. I cross to my dresser and find my black hoody. I throw it on and it covers my cuts.

Slowly, I begin to relax. And then my dad yells, Emily Sarah Jackson. I immediately tense up. That's not good.

I open my door and go to see Drunk-As-Fuck Dad in the living room. I'm already shaking. Alcohol-induced anger is evident on his face.

Where's my fucking dinner? He yells. It takes a lot to stop myself from saying, Up your ass. So I decide not to say anything, because I was afraid I was gonna say it.

I should've expected it. He moved so fast, I couldn't duck. Next thing I know, I'm sprawled on the floor, my face on fire. My sleeve rose up a slight bit when I had fallen. Thankfully, my cuts didn't show.

He stood up from the couch. He kicked me over and over in the stomach. Over and over. Over and over. It hurt so badly.

And right then I wanted to die.