Married The Gangster

Prologue

Ivy P.O.V

“You’re worthless. No wonder he didn’t want you,” I heard my drunken stepfather say right before I felt the stinging pain when his hand connected with my cheek.

“You’re nothing to us! No one would want a fucked up kid like you.” The words hurt even though I’ve gotten used to hearing them.

“You can’t even cook a decent meal without it coming out cold!”

He pushed me against the wall, causing me to slam my head, making my sight go blurry.

Before my vision could even return, I felt him punch me across my left cheek, making me fall to the kitchen floor.  The broken plate, the one he had thrown on the floor moments ago, surrounded me.

He had been unhappy about his dinner becoming cold from when it had been waiting for him for the past ten minutes.

“Get the hell out of my sight before I end your useless life for you,” he snarled at me.

I felt his foot connect with my stomach, as tears started running down my face as the pain spread through my body.

I knew better though than to make any noise. That would just give him incentive to continue the abuse, with the knowledge that he had caused me pain.

As I started to crawl away from him, I heard my mother’s drunken laughter fill the air around me. I never understood how she could just sit there and let him do this to me.

It seemed that the alcohol had blurred her vision and she wasn’t able to see what her husband was doing to her daughter.

She would just sit there and laugh as he used me for his human punching bag, like she was watching stand up comedy.

I felt him kick me in the stomach once again, making me fall back onto the broken plate. I instantly felt the searing pain caused by a broken piece cutting my hand.

I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming as I felt the small pieces dig into my skin.

I could hear him walking away as I looked down to see the tiny drops of blood welling up and spreading across my hand.   

From across the kitchen, I could hear him rummaging through the kitchen drawers then closing them.

I blinked a few times, taking in his feet coming closer to me. I watched as he bent down onto his knee while holding a knife by the black handle.

“Here, take this knife.” His voice was snide, mocking. 

“Go into the bathroom, get into the tub and cut those wrists of yours open.” He held out a knife to me now, a spiteful gleam in his eyes.

This wasn’t the first time he’d told me to do this. This had become a nightly thing, a routine almost.

He would get mad about the craziest things, ending with me being used as a punching bag and being told to kill myself.

“Oh, just let me do it!  I’d love to see her blood drain from her,” my stepsister, Niña, called out, her voice full of malice.

She’d always had it in for me, it seemed.

I never understood why she hated me.

I’ve never done anything to her as far as I knew.

It seemed she was never a big fan of me ever since my mother married her father.

When we were kids growing up, she always picked on me, but I had learned how to ignore her insults though.

All that changed though, when I turned ten and my father left me.

He disappeared from my life forever.

When my stepfather found out, he got mad at me for crying over my father leaving me.

And that was when the beatings started. He would hit me and tell me to stop crying. Then Niña would come up behind him and join him in hurting me by saying what a worthless cause I was.

Ever since then she would help him with tearing apart my soul till there was nothing left but an empty shell.  

“See?  No one wants you here!  Even your own father left you because he couldn’t stand you,” my stepdad said, the words hammering me worse than the kicks and punches ever did.

“You’re nothing but a burden to this family!” he yelled before he stood back up and kicked me in the side again.

I screamed in pain and he pulled his foot back, kicking me again.

I writhed in agony, begging for the pain to stop. Soon the darkness took over, just as it did every night.