Bully

Chapter 1

Pain flared up my arm as jagged finger nails bit into my flesh. I winced and gritted my teeth, refusing the scream that bubbled to my lips. That would only give him satisfaction. I heard a rough, throaty laugh boom in my ear. Years of smoking and drinking had caused his voice to be heavy and cracked.

"Scream like a girl," he chided, pressing down on my scarred skin harder. I felt my arm dampen as a sticky substance started to ooze from the wound he was inflicting. I flinched at the sight of it, slamming my eyelids shut as vomit threatened to spill from my stomach. "Aww, scared of a little bit of blood?" My father taunted, squeezing the cut harder so more of the vile red liquid poured out. My stomach churned at the sensation and I kept my eyes firmly closed.

At least, on the bright side, my arm had now gone numb from pain.

"Look at it," he commanded, thrusting it mere inches from my face. I squirmed in his grip trying to break free but I knew it was useless. He always won; I always lost.

"No," I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady but it was weak and fragile.

Suddenly, pain lashed through my stomach as his knee collided with my body. Winded, I hunched over in pain but still resiliently remained closed-eye.

"I said look at it,"He growled, his voice eerily low. Not trusting my words, I dared to shake my head and defy him. "If you don't look at it, I'll have to make you," he warned. I knew I should obey and just take a quick glance, before I threw myself into more trouble but I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes. Years of physical abuse had made me fearful of the red liquid which spilled out of my veins. My phobia of blood was so massive that I risked my father's anger to avoid looking at it.

A sound that was a mix of anger from my defiance, and pleasure that he now had a reason to beat me further, erupted from his throat. Before I had a chance to register what was happening, his fist smashed into my face, sending a fearsome pain shooting through my head. My eyes flitted open at the impact and, as quick as lightning, he wiped the vicious substance all across my face, so that all I could see was red.

Unable to keep it in, a strangled scream slipped out of my lips and my arms frantically flailed forward to wipe it away but his grip was tight. He pinned me to the ground, forcing me to endure the mental pain as well as the physical as the blood covered my skin.

"How did I ever end up with you?" He taunted, amusement curving his cruel face into a look of satisfaction. "I deserve a proper son, not a screaming little girl like you,"His arms retracted and I instantly brought my top up to scrub my face clean, whimpering noises still escaping from my shaking body.

"Pathetic!" He spat at me, giving me one last kick which sent me sprawling on the floor before stalking into the kitchen, leaving me crying in a pool of my own blood.

*

Banging exploded from downstairs, and then suddenly ceased so the house lulled into a tense silence. I stepped out of the bathroom, glad that my father had started to indulge in his alcohol so soon after he beat me, meaning he was too drunk to care if I took a shower. My heart rate finally started to descend now that the blood had been washed off.

On shaky legs, I walked over to my grimy bedroom mirror and inspected my face. A nasty purple bruise framed my blue eye, and the rest of my face had turned from its usual tanned colour to an inflamed red. I shivered, the wounds reminding me of blood that washed my skin no more than an hour ago.

My body showed years of abuse, but no one ever noticed. I covered it up well. My nose was crookedly bent, after he had broken it innumerable times. A scar cut through my right eyebrow, after he had cut me with a smashed beer bottle. A tooth near the back of my mouth was missing, after he had launched a particularly brutal punch. A hole carved the lobe of my left ear which resembled a piercing, but was actually from when he had nailed me to a door by the ear. My index finger on my right hand bent at an awkward angle from when he had broken it and refused to take me to hospital. A pale patch of skin that never tanned or grew hair on my leg after he had set it on fire, and pinned me so the flames ate away at my skin. An ugly scar that ran across my stomach from when he had dug a pen into my flesh and then dragged it right across my skin so it cut open my flesh like a slab of beef. And then there were the little scars. They were everywhere; so many that I couldn't even remember what they were from anymore.