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▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ❝ dear , sweet , little boy . . . i hope you know that you deserve this horrid life of yours ! ❞ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
My father is in a bad mood.
I hear the creaking of the wooden stairs and automatically know whose coming up them. He wears heavy shoes and I can hear them thumping against the floor. I count the steps in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. He's getting closer. Seven. Eight. Nine. Two more stairs. Ten. Eleven. Now, he's walking slowly, getting closer to my bedroom every second. I could hide. It wouldn't do any good, though. He knows I'm in here. It wouldn't take him long to find me. The thumping gets louder and soon he's there. Right on the other side of my door. Fear settles in the pit of my stomach and I start to feel sick. So very sick. I feel as if I could just vomit right here and right now. The door knob twists and I squeeze my eyes shut. I know what's coming and so does he. Now, he's stepping into my room and the floors creaking a lot less because of the small rug in front of the door. I pray to whatever god is out there that this will go by quick. I just want to get it over with. Please let it go by quick . . .
I don't have any time to react. As soon as he reaches me, he grabs me by my arm, nails digging into my flesh, and throws me to the ground. He had a bad day at work. That's what's got him so pìssed. Anyways, I land on my side with a thump, a grunt leaves my lips. I open my eyes and the one of which I can see out of, stares blankly at the wall across from me. I close my eyes again. Now he's kicking me. The toe of his shoe is hard and he uses a lot of force. Over and over again he kicks me. He hits some of the bruises from yesterday and that only intensifies the pain. Kick after kick. My whole body is sore and I think some ribs are broken. I want to scream or cry out or do something but there's no point. If I make a sound or fight back, he only makes it worse. It gets harder to breathe then and I feel like my lungs are collapsing in on themselves. I try to curl up into a ball but the kicks come too hard, too fast.
Then the kicking stopped. I knew it was far from over, though. He soon grabbed me by my arm again and yanked me up off the ground, almost pulling my arm from the socket. Seconds later my back was being slammed against the wall and my head crashed back into the hard surface, causing me to see stars. He held my shirt with one hand while the other clenched into a fist. Not even a second later I was being punched. First it was my stomach and abdomen area, and now it's my face. My jaw gets a hit first and the aching feeling it leaves causes me to release a sharp groan. He hits me in the same spot harder. My lips are next. He busts them and now all I can taste is my metallic blood against my tongue. The harder he hits, the darker the room gets. My eyes close and I know for a fact that one of them will turn purple soon.
I can't take this. I can't take it... I'm screaming inside my head. I'm screaming for help. I'm screaming for it all to just stop. I want it to end more than anything. But it doesn't stop and no sound, except the occasional groans of pain, leaves my mouth. I just stand there and take it. I feel blood running down my face and I know that every time his knuckles touch my skin, he leaves a new mark. A new reminder of the things he does. I'm almost numb to all the pain. I'm getting used to this torture. It's all I expect anymore. I know I deserve this. He tells me so. I deserve to suffer. I deserve to hurt inside and out. I deserve to be hated. I deserve to die. Everything that's done to me is my own fault. I'm just not good enough.
I feel myself start to get light headed. How long has this been going on? It seems as if I've been getting hit for hours straight. He stops hitting me after a while and takes a chunk of my hair in his fist, gripping tightly so my body jolts from the pain. He tilts my head to the side roughly and whispers to me. All his words are cruel. I can't hear or comprehend what he says because my mind is such a jumbled up mess right now and I can't think straight, but I know his words are not kind ones. They never are. He throws me down to the floor once more and I hit my head on the polished wood this time. I squeeze my eyes shut from the aching and throbbing in my head and lay there, listening to his steps as he walks away. My door is slammed closed behind him. Now I'm alone and I'm growing more aware of all the pain in my body. I go to push myself up into a sitting position, but my hand slips in a puddle of my own blood and my head hits the floor again. I give up after the first try. What's the point in moving? I slowly curl into a ball and hug myself, wincing every time I move even an inch. My whole body hurts. I feel like throwing up still so I don't dare open my mouth. My eyes sting with tears. Before I know it, I'm sobbing silently while I shake and shiver.
