Bad Blood

So Wrong

I'd been so wrong about everything. I thought I would only get to be happy if I wasn't locked away in some hole under the house to rot. I thought I would be able to kill my father, and never have to feel his abuse again. I thought I could be normal.
I was wrong on all counts.

The days after the first dragged by at a grueling pace. My father had decided that as some sick form of trade for my freedom, he'd get to spend as many hours as he wanted an evening ruining me. It was in those hours that I wished I could just die already. Part of me was scared that wouldn't even stop him. Eventually I learned how to turn my brain off for a while, while my body took the abuse alone. It seemed like a good enough solution; slipping into the void for few hours, and not letting a disgusting pervert see you cry again. But the darkness wasn't as friendly as I'd imagined it to be-where I once found solace and silence, there was a new torture. One I wasn't able to switch off and leave my body to suffer. A punishment dealt by my own mind, or whatever was left of it. I would come to hours later, still undressed, covered in sweat and tears. My father would be smoking, or drinking, or just staring. We never spoke.

Eventually the first month passed. Then the next two, and three more after those. The routine stayed the same; I stayed quiet through it all. The whole time I knew that eventually, he'd have to stop. He wasn't like me, and he would die eventually. Even if I didn't have a hand in it, he'd keel over dead sometime. I could only hope I was there to watch.

((authors note: this chapter was really short, sorry! This was just a sort of segway into the next few chapters, so I'm sorry if it seems rushed