Akrasia

Chapter 1

  Lainey's Point of View

"Dad stop. I didn't do anything wrong! STOP" I scream while thrashing around in between each punch.
   "NO! You disobeyed me. You haven't done any chores at all, but you still decided to fall asleep watching television. You have to get punished!" My Dad sneers at me while sending numerous punches to my limbs. Although, where he hits me already feels like there is bruises.
   " I'm sorry I don't remember falling asleep. I'm SORRY! I DON'T REMEMBER!" I truly don't remember falling asleep or what happened before hand. Just that I woke up being punched by my father. For something I didn't remember doing.
   " Sorry won't cut it. You should know that ALREADY!" He yells in my ears before sending one last punch to my stomach. "Now get up. It's 4am for crying out loud. And you need to get your chores done before going to school. So I suggest you get going. You USELESS SCUM!" He snickers in my ear with so much disgust it sends a shiver down my spine. I'm soon being pulled up by my hair and set on my feet. "GO!" He yells again pushing me forward.
    I trip over my feet scurrying over to the stairs. Glancing over my shoulder I see that my dad is struggling to gain composure. His hands are pulling his hair out from his head while he grunts in frustration. I'd never thought I'd feel bad for him ever, but I can't help it. He is my dad either way.
    I'm still analyzing him when he stops. His eyes travel all the way over to my feet on the first step. Then up my body until he makes eye contact with me. I see rage take over his eyes as he yells, "GO!"
   "Yes sir." I mutter while scampering up to my room.
    I shut my door, lock it, and then slide down in a heave. Even after my whole life I don't understand why my dad acts like this. And it sucks that my mom, the only person who can talk sense into him, is never home. She's always doing work outside of the house and when I ask about her work she always dismisses my question.
   I'm just sitting here until I force myself to get ready knowing that the beating would be worse if I don't. I drag myself into the house avoiding any and all contact with my dad. Walking into the bathroom I'm met with a disappointment. Staring back at me in the doorframe is a pitiful girl. A girl who gets beat up by her dad. A girl who wakes up every morning with bruises and cuts not knowing where they're from. A girl who has horrible memories of past events. A girl who is strong but can't ever use it for good. A girl who's dad hates her and doesn't give a crap about her. A girl who has a loving mom, but doesn't care to ever help her from her dads wrath. A girl who has nothing going for her in the future. And a girl who can't control anything that goes on in her life. Not even herself.
   I'm abruptly pulled out of my thoughts as I hear yelling going on downstairs. I can only make out a little bit of my parents conversation as they grow from yells of frustration to whispers.
"You can't keep DOING THIS!" My Mom yells. Wait my mom? Shouldn't she be at work?
"Why not? It helps doesn't it!" My Dad seethes furiously.
"Yes," My Mom sighs suddenly growing quiet. "but it doesn't help her from wondering why other than you solely becoming drunk and angry."
"Okay, but that does happen sometimes so it's not fake." He scoffs.
"Yes, that's what I mean. I at least don't want it being real. I'm already doing too much to her and pushing the limits of my boss. Most people don't have this much freedom."
"Well, your boss likes you right. And I'm sure hy-" he's abruptly cut off before speaking again. " well I'm sure your boss doesn't mind a little extra punishment."
"True, but she doesn't deserve it. But I've got to go. Forget we ever had this conversation and forget I have doubt about you know who." She says sternly.
"Yes honey, bye" and that's when they stopped talking. That was also very strange.
    Trying to forget about what went on between my parents, I look back at myself in the mirror figuring out my excuse for my black eye and split open lip. But I can't focus on that situation right now. I've never known what my mom does for a job. She says it's highly confidential. And I don't question it, but I was so close to knowing. Hy- what. Hy-, hy-, hy-, hy-what! I give up. I'll find out later. Right?
    Ugh, I have an hour till school. Glancing back at the alarm clock realizing it's nearly 6 and school starts at 7:45. And it takes 30 minutes to get to school on my bike. I thrash around in my closet to find sweatpants and a huge, bulky sweatshirt. It'll cover up my bruised limbs good enough.
   I run into my bathroom to find old concealer. I don't care how old it is or how badly it doesn't match my skin tone. Or whatever girls complain about. I just swipe the rim of the tube because it's nearly empty. Apply it around my eye quickly but thoroughly. Taking a step back from the mirror I look at myself. I look like I've been ran over by a two by four. You can still see my black eye, but it's not as bad as before at least. On top of that I have huge bags under my eyes and a split open lip. But I've looked worse, so it's not a surprise.
If I'm not full of bruises all the time I guess I could be pretty. I have an oval face set with a cute button nose. Usually my lips are cracked, or plump because of the punches. My small but sharp, chocolate brown eyes with flecks of gold sit under my thin eyebrows. Along with that, my face is scattered with freckles creating a constellation of tinted dots along my nose and under my eyes. I don't wear makeup it's too much work. It's also too much work to do anything with my hair. It is thick, long, and wavy, so I just let it hang off my shoulders to avoid dealing with its unruly knots. People say it's the same color as my eyes, chocolate brown, and I kind of agree. Minus the whole golden flecks of course. That would be gross. Having golden dandruff in my hair. I cringe at the idea.
    The only thing that pains me to look at my reflection isn't the thought of how useless I look. But rather the fact that a long scar has made home on my left cheek. It doesn't bother me that it makes me ugly, but it brings me humiliation. Humiliation that I allowed my father to gouge his fingers through my skin. Only because I snapped back to him. Only because I defended myself to only be hit back down. Everyday it reminds me of my failure. Reminds me that I'm worthless and won't ever be loved, or at least by my stupid father.
It's either I'm quiet and obey, or I'm loud and defensive. Honestly, I don't know who I naturally am. I've taken countless exaggerated introvert and extrovert quiz and it's always pretty much 50/50.
   Snapping out of my self evaluation I have 40 minutes to get my chores done. The whole time my thoughts carry me away. Mainly I'm thinking about how to defend my beat up face, but other wise it's about my moms job. I've never known what she does and I wish I did. She's the person who cares about me, when she's home at least, so I want to know more about her. She's always away in the day and always comes back at night. The only time that I distinctively see her is right before I go to sleep. It's easy to know when since she always comes to say goodnight to me when she gets home. Which is at 11:15. Every night at that time she says, "Good Night". Little bits of affection from my parents fills me with joy. If it's not from them I usually just forget about it because it's usually from pity. Which annoys the crap out of me!
   I glance at the digital clock on our microwave and it's...7:21!
  "HOLY CRAP!" I yell not caring if I bother my dad. I sprint out of the kitchen dropping the plate I was washing in the sink. I know I'll get in trouble for that later, but that is not my problem right now. Frantically I find my backpack and sling it over my shoulders. I grab my keys on my lanyard and rush out the front door. I hop on my bike and ride off. Realizing I forgot to shut the front door I mentally scold my self knowing I'll pay for this later. I'm riding faster than usual down the bustling streets of Queens. I pull out my phone and it's 7:44 and I'm still four blocks from my school. It's now 7:46 as I'm greeted with the sight of my school doors. I chain up my bike and rush into the doors of Midtown High school.

~

This is my first book. I've never written before, other than for school. Which probably explains why this is really sucky😂. If someone is reading this I don't know how often I'd post. I do have plans for this story, but I'm busy 24/7. I recommend reading a chapter other than 1 and 2 because both suck horribly and are just setting up stuff. And don't worry, the Avengers are still a big part of it.👍