Saved By A Mikaelson (Loving a Mikaelson AU)

Chapter 3: A Different Beginning

Chapter 3: A Different Beginning

A.N) Yassss here comes the part where I can actually tie in LAM! If this doesn't sound familiar I've failed as a writer XD Also: if you don't know yet, I've been writing without publishing a little (okay so a lot) but I don't want to overwhelm you guys so Imma update maybe Saturdays and Wednesdays? And we'll just have to see how that goes ha

Song: So Cold- Ben Cocks

"Where do you go when your house isn't home?"

+ + + + +

I walk in the house to be met with a growl and a cruel gaze.

"You're late." He barks.

"I'm sorry." I say, looking at my feet.

"HEY! You will look at me when I'm talking to you, do you understand me?!" He screams.

I wince, slowing raising my eyes to him. He's a few feet away, and I'm still so scared. "Yes." I mumble.

"Yes, sir. And speak up. This isn't a damned funeral."

"Sorry." 

He gives me a warning look that sends a tremor of fear through me. "Sir." I say quickly, hoping I've mended my mistake. It's silly. Normal kids worry about getting good grades and collage. And I have to deal with... This.

He nods, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. 

"You should be more grateful, young lady. I will not put up with an ungrateful winch in my house. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir." 

But he doesn't care, swinging at me. When I dodge it, his eyes flare red. "STAY STILL!"

I don't have a choice, and his fist meets my jaw, and I fall from the forceful impact. My will is crushed as always, and I taste blood. My jaw feels like it's out of socket - not the first time either. He doesn't care about the pain I'm in, and roars "Get off your knees you filthy whore! Go to your room!"

I scurry away, and I can only hope he's through with me for now. But how could I be so lucky? Doubtful.

I'm shaking. I tremble, crawling to the bathroom. It's horrible and the only thing that helps. It's cliche and dangerous but I shake as I pick it up. It's a cold cure, a hunk of metal. But it's also the only thing I can think to do. I wouldn't recommend it. I wish I'd never started because now I can't stop. 

I'm sorry. 

I bring it to my wrist.

I'm sorry.

Seven times.

I'm sorry.

But I don't end it there. I can't. More. Thighs, arms, hips.

I'm sorry.

It's all I can do when I throw it to the other side of the room. I cover my mouth with a hand to stifle sobs as I try to wash away the blood in my sink and bandage what I can.

I'm sorry.

I crawl into my bed, only after pulling off my ratty converse. But I can never sleep. Not until my body collapses from exhaustion. Not until I can't take anymore. And then.. I do. Or at least, for as long as he lets me.

I'm sorry.

+ + + + +

I wake up when he stumbles in, drunk. His bottle is still in his hand. He sets it on the floor and I flinch at the mere sight of him. He's sweating and smells of the poison that's now on my floorboards. He starts off by ripping my out of my bed... By my hair.

I scream, my face hits the floor first, if my jaw hadn't taken enough before it's done for now.

"SHUT UP!" He yells, his booming voice chilling my bones and it echoes throughout the house.

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, making gag. He kicks my ribs and I'm at his feet, curled up in a ball, biting my lip so I don't cry. Crying only makes it worse. My tears are like a fuel to him.

Shouldn't I have become immune to this by now? Every night ever since I can remember, same routine. Same bloodshed. Sometimes worse than the night before. So why does it still hurt the same?

I tried to fight back once. It didn't end well... I know I will be covered in bruises by morning. It will take forever to cover them all with makeup. No one can help me, even if I tell them about what I must endure every night. Dad's a cop, nobody ever believes me. I'm just a kid, right? Why should anyone pay attention to a kid?

Before I can even process what's happening, my fuzzy mind and my near-numb, aching body are too overwhelmed. Tonight is different. Tonight he doesn't stop.

Blow after blow attacks my frail figure, tonight is different. 

Tonight I can't hold in the blood-curdling screams and the sobbing as he relentlessly kicks me and puches me and hurls words that break me apart. Tonight he has broken me. Tonight he has won. 

I feel tears and blood and pain. So much pain. It's all that's left.

+ + + + +

I see a light. But not a thought runs through my mind. I can't feel anything, only sleepiness and ignorant bliss. There is a scuttle around me, but I only make out blurs and mixed colors where there's fast movement and murmers where there are shouts of panic. 

There are hands and touches but I can't process anything but the numb and the high in my body. I know nothing else. 

Nothing but bliss.

i  c a n ' t  d o  t h i s  a n y m o r e  .