darkest days | jorge + martina ✓

4

--

"Why are you home so late again?" The air of the words slowly but angrily left his mouth.

I didn't reply, I just kept my eyes closed and walked backwards until I bumped against the now closed door.

Within a split second I felt his hand across my face. Automatically my hand held my red cheek, a stream of pain ran over my face.

His leg moved backwards and then kicked me hard in my stomach. I immediately cramped in myself and fell down onto the ground.

My hands were holding my stomach and I felt the immense pain taking over my body. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but it would only get worse.

He continued with kicking and slapping me. After he bruised my entire body and my nose was bleeding, he kicked me one more time before pushing me towards the staircase.

I crumbled down into my own body while he started shouting. "Get into your room and don't get out until I come upstairs" He demanded, slapping me another time across my cheek.

I felt worthless, like I was stabbed with a thousand knifes. And not only the fact that he beated me hurt, but also the fact that my blood-own father didn't care a damn about me anymore.

"Go now!" He shouted and slammed my body against the wooden stairs. I didn't hesitate and got up on my wobbling legs.

I ran up the stairs, almost fainting from the pain that had concered my body. I grabbed my towel and quickly got into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I turned on the shower and rapidly undressed my bruised body. I opened the shower curtain and stepped under the hot shower.

Slight screams left my mouth when the hot water filled my wounds. Blood was still dripping from it and it hurted like hell.

But I was used to it, it was almost my daily routine. The only times I was alone was on Thursdays and Fridays, my father had to work till late in the night.

I tried cleaning my wounds with careful movements. After 15 minutes I turned off the shower and dried my body with the blue towel.

I grabbed the first aid kit which I hid behind the toilet. It was the only way, otherwise he'd throw it away.

I stabilised some plasters on the wounds that were still bleeding heavily. I placed a bandage over my ankle, a huge pain kept steaming through it.

It was most probably bruised.

With care I unlocked the door, purposely not creating a sound by opening the door. I tiptoed to my room and sat down in my chair before my desk.

I took my phone which I had thrown on the bed before I went to shower. I knew what was coming next, it was Wednesday.

Every Wednesday he'd come up into my room in the evening. I didn't want it, my body wasn't ready. But he forced the crap out of me.

The clock ticked on 7 pm as I heard my father's hand click the door handle. He opened it as I turned around and saw him standing there, an angry look stuck on his smirky face.

With threatening steps he came towards me. I curled up into myself, squeezing my eyes closed again.

He kicked me out of the chair with his right leg, hitting me exactly on my just bruised ankle.