Hurt || 5H

eleven

"Good job ladies! Check your emails tonight and have fun!" The coach says.

.

"Welcome to the Varsity pom team! All your hard work paid off. Practices are every Monday, Tuesday's, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Uniform fitting is this Tuesday after school to be there! Have a great day Hawkettes."

I made it.

"Mother father I made the varsity team," I say walking through the door.

My dad rose from the chair walking towards me. "I don't care." He clenched his teeth walking closer to me backing me up on the wall. "You think that's important? There are more important things than making a pom pom fly in the air and doing dumb dances with trashy music." He got in my face I could feel his spit on my face as he screams close to me.

"Y-y-yes sir, s-sorry." I squeak.

I hurriedly tried to walk to the cold basement but my father stopped me with his hurtful grip.

"What makes you think you can go back to your room without asking!?" He screams. His grip got harder around my wrists. It's definitely going to leave a mark.

.

"I just handed your test results back, congratulations Brooklyn, you got the highest score with a 98/100." Mr. Finch congratulated.

My parents are going to be mad.

.

"A ninety-eight on a quiz! That's not fucking acceptable! We told you that you can only be on the pom team if you get all hundred percents on everything!" My father yelled. He was the only one home which meant no limits.

He pulled my hair and I was slammed to the wall. Honestly, I'm wishing he would just kill me already.

Hey guys

It's 1;46 am right now and I'm wide wide awake. I took melatonin and its not working ahahah. Anyways, my question is what grade are y'all in? I'm a freshman, or as the upperclassmen call us, freshmeat.

I need story ideas for new books, thanks.