The House Of Sins

Chapter 5: Sad Truth

After being under the bed for what felt like hours, he heard the door close. He continued to wait another few minutes, just in case, but nothing happened, so he slowly got up onto the bed. He didn't know what could happen anymore, so he thought he should read the book he found. He went into his bag and pulled out the book. He opened it. His jaw dropped when he examined the picture. Within the picture was a young woman whom had the exact same necklace he had found. How did he find such a similar one to the one she was wearing in the picture? No, the exact same one she was wearing... how?

He began to read her diary and, sure enough, this was her family's house and there were some pictures that showed the house except that, obviously, the pictures showed it in a better state. She had written that she had lived with her mother and her father. As he continued reading, he read something that caught his eye and he felt he could relate to...

17th March 1952 ~ Today my father caught me with Jerry, he was so angry... he gave me the 'friends and relationships lecture' once again. I don't know how he expects me to be lonely forever, or have no social life. As soon as I got home, I went to my room. I knew exactly what was coming. I quickly locked my door and that was when I heard him shouting at me through my door. I never would listen to the words he said; I couldn't bear to hear them constantly. I knew it was only a matter of time before he got in again. As tears rolled down my cheeks, I got up and unlocked the door; I thought maybe if I did that it wouldn't be as bad this time. After he beat me for what must have been thirty minutes, he finally left my room. I just cried and cried, covered in bruises. As usual, all I could do now was pray it was the last time he did that tonight. I am not even religious, that's the thing. Why did I pray? I do not know. Maybe in my head the false sense of hope is the only support I get around here. My mother never helps me, if anything she just hurts me more with her words. Sometimes the worst pain isn't physical.

After reading that he too was in tears. He knew exactly how she felt. That was exactly what had happened to him. That was why he had run away but, by the sound of things, she never even got the chance to try. Then he thought, what if that is the girls skeleton... what if it was her? With that in his head he couldn't do anything else but read more to find out. However, firstly he wanted to write his diary, before he forgot.

"Dear Diary,

I seriously need to get back to the old cabin as soon as I can; I'm exhausted. I haven't slept for two days now. I've lost focus; my body feels like it is going to collapse under its own weight. I can't eat, not just yet. I need to read the diary first and then I'll leave here. I'll leave the book here too. I feel bad for reading it but I want to know the truth about this now."

After reading more he saw another diary entry that caught his eye. He wanted to know if there was more to this story. He wanted to know exactly how bad it was, as if it wasn't bad enough that he went through that, now it was someone else who had gone through it too.

6th November 1952 ~ Once again, I was sat with my back to the door. In hope maybe I could stop him getting in this time. The more he would shout the more I would bang my head against the wall. Each time harder than the last; if I was going to be in pain, I want to at least be the cause! But eventually he would get through, I remember the blank angered look on his face, just the fact I tried to keep him out had made it worse. I knew this too well but I have stopped caring anymore. How could I care when it happened every single day?! I was lucky last night, he beat me for so long, I went unconscious... then I woke up stripped on my bed. I knew exactly what happened, it would happen at least three times a week. I was just happy I was not awake this time. My eyes filled with tears, until I saw my best friend in the corner. My best friend was my paintbrush, and the only colour of paint I used was red. I used my paintbrush with my arm as a canvas and once again created such a beautiful painting. It was almost as if my sorrows disappeared.

His heart sank into his chest, the book dropped out of his hands to the floor. She was the same age as him... she was only 17. If it wasn't enough she had been abused physically, she was sexually abused too. Why would someone do that to their own flesh and blood? He had never understood why it happened to him but why you would even think of forcing your own daughter into sexual deeds with you was something he never wanted to understand!

He couldn't bear to read anymore, tears pouring out of his eyes, he picked up the book and put it into his bag. He was almost certain the skeleton outside had been the girl who had written this diary. He wished he could have helped her; it killed him that he couldn't. Why did such a sweet girl have to withstand such a monstrosity? Her dad was such a reminder of his own abomination of a father, the difference being her father was even sicker... or maybe that's why his mother wouldn't speak to him or even stick up for him. He was now raging in masses of fury. He got up and punched the door, his fist flying through the door. He was so angry he couldn't even feel the pain of his already broken hand breaking through the door. Then he fell to the floor, tears falling down his face. He screamed his mother's name almost as if he was apologizing.

He had never felt what he felt for this girl before. Someone finally understood him. He had never once had that feeling before; it was almost as if he started to fall for her. As weird as it seemed he couldn't help but feel this way. He felt so sorry for her but she understood and that meant more than a thousand good memories. He grabbed his bag and then headed straight outside to the back. He had something he wanted to do.

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@josielovesdemi - what do you think will happen next? Hope you enjoyed!