Forbidden - Lashton

Finale - ashton

*Mentions of abuse

*Mentions of suicide

*Mentions of drugs

My back is leaning against the bare wall behind me and my knees were pulled up towards me as I limply hug them with my arms with my head being lolled against the side. My palm is slightly burning and tingly from apparently being an ashtray and lit up lighter.

There was darkness. All I could see is darkness. My throat is dry and couldn't get myself to speak up, after all, I had been banging against the door for hours straight and screaming out for someone -- anyone to let me out but to my avail, no come came. It was just my luck, as always.

I gave up and felt myself grow tired. I always was tired. I never got to sleep, when I did, I wish I could sleep for a million years.

All of a sudden, the door to the dark closet started to slowly open, letting in a creak of sunlight. My eyes blink and open at the bright light and were once again blocked by a short standing figure.

"Ashton...?" The small voice called out to me in a low whisper. I swallow a lump in my throat and realize it's Harry, my younger brother. Harry has always been the one to help me out of these stuck situations and I'm thankful for that though I wish he doesn't have to see me like this. It never is a good sight.

I uncurl myself from the slump position I was in and crawl to Harry on my knees. When I saw a clear view of his face from the lighter side, I smiled and rubbed my thumb on the side of his head, trying to to make contact with his cheek -- near his ears. "Thank you, Harry," I say to him.

He let his finger flow towards my bruised cheek and he touched it, making me flinch away from the touch. The pain still hurt -- still have to put an ice pack on it. "Where's dad?" I ask Harry and he only responds with a shrug and a shy stare.

I sigh and get up from the floor, making my way towards the kitchen with Harry trailing along behind me. I go towards the fridge and pull out a small bag of ice and filling it into a small plastic bag, wrapping it with a napkin so that it wouldn't be too cold.

The kitchen is a mess, seeing as there's just piles and piles of dirty dishes in the sink that no one in this family bothers to clean them, random cooking supplies out on the counter -- including on top of the stove, and a few snacks in tiny cardboard boxes that are already half-eaten, which I know mum had gone to buy from the grocery store with little money she had a few days ago.

I pulled out a wooden chair that was tucked into the round table and sat on it, with the made ice bag in my right hand and leaning my bruised cheek against it. I close my eyes and let out a breath.

Dad tried hurting mum and I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. I only get the same treatment every time through that consequence. It's not like I regret the decision I make, I regret the times I look in his eyes and feel scared and freeze in the moment.

He was an abusive, cheating, drug-addicted, manipulated husband. I was verbally and physically abused my whole life by him. My mum would always try her best to protect me and she would divert his anger towards her instead. I felt bad about it but I knew she was doing it for the love for me.

If I did something wrong, I would get hit. The bruises on my body only got worst and the authorities were slowly catching on. The moment I turned seventeen was the moment I wanted to dropout of school, no questions asked.

Lauren never does anything about it, she leaves the house as much as she can, I wouldn't blame her. I wonder if bringing her little brother with her ever crosses her mind.

"Lauren says," Harry starts to say. I open my eyes again and see him standing in front of me. "You should call for help... She doesn't like daddy very much."