FOAH/ BYLER/ WICHIE ONESHOTS

black eyes

Noah

My alarm woke me up and I rubbed my eyes not wanting to get up out of bed. My entire body ached. Every bruise throbbed. When my step dad beat me this time, he left no part of my body under my neck untouched. He was smart, never hit the face. But last night he lost control. He was too drunk. He threw the bottle straight at me; sending my backwards.

I groaned as I attempted to get up. It was getting harder to fake that I was okay, especially with my boyfriend Finn. I know for a fact that he's getting suspicious. My long sleeves, My refusal to participate in gym, my lack of eating, sleep and energy. I know he's been observing me. Observing how I wear long sleeves or sweaters in hot weather, how I limp and how I avoid any conversation about my father.

I love Finn and I hate lying to him, I really do but I can't bring myself to tell him. I use all the strength in me to limp over to the bathroom. I manage to undress and get in the shower. I let the hot water relax my tense muscles. I run my fingers through my hair and pressed my forehead against the cold shower walls and the water ran down my body.

When I was ready I washed my hair then rubbed soap all over and rinsed it off, then used my body wash.

I turned the water off and grabbed my towel. I dried up in the shower to avoid soaking the floor. I didn't have enough energy to dry it. When I stepped out I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked horrible.

My right hazel eye was framed with a black eye that was a mixture of black, purple and blue. I had a bruise on the crook of my neck and a cut on my lip that looked deep. I sighed.

It's gonna be super hard to hide this. Like I mean impossible. I felt stress clog my body. I hate to have Finn worry about me. I remember the last time I had a black eye. He went around asking all the bullies who did this to me. Gripping their collars and slamming them against the lockers and threatening them.

When I found out I told him it was my dad. And I lied and said he apologizes and that it was an accident. It eased him but I'm pretty sure he didn't fully calm down the entire week.

I sighed as I pulled at my hair. A whimper escaping my lips when I moved my arm too fast, disturbing the bruises on my back, my shoulders and my arms. I grabbed my blade that I hide on top of the medicine cabinet and positioned it on my wrist. I did a good slice. Letting it go deeper than intended but too hurt to care. The blood dripped into the sink. I cut more until my wrists went numb and I couldn't bring myself to do anymore. I cleaned them up and wrapped them up before walking out the bathroom; feeling more depressed than I did when I first woke up.

I got dressed in a long sleeve Beatles shirt and black jeans and threw on one of Finn's Thrasher hoodies that he left and my vans. I made sure to not put skinny jeans, my bruises wouldn't be able to handle them, and made sure they weren't ripped, didn't want to risk showing them.

I ran my fingers through my hair to tame my bed head. After failing I grabbed my bag and left. Dad was passed out on the hallway floor. A spilt beer bottle by him and an empty one stuck in the grip of his grimy hands. It's sad to see him like this.

His unshaved beard beginning to grow again. The dark bags under his eyes and the wrinkles from stress and age forming on his forehead. He wasn't always like this. An alcoholic, abusive. He used to be a great father.

Until mom and Chloe died. That changed him. Turned him into what he is today. He takes out all his pain and anger on me. Blames me. Says it was my fault. I don't understand how. They died in a fire. We weren't home. He was picking me up from a friend's house. Maybe it's because he thinks that if he was there he would've been able to save them. I don't know.