Trigger warnings for this chapter:
• Domestic violence
• Violence, in general
• Triggering/harsh language
• Physical assault
--
*Saturday, December 28, 2019; 2:14 P.M. (earlier that day)*
*Linden's point of view*
I feel blood dripping from my nose, and onto my lips as I fall to the floor.
I open my eyes to see that everything's spinning.
I hear Ian yelling at the top of his lungs, but I can't make out a single word he's saying; it all sounds like incoherent babble.
At one point, I bury my head into my knees, and I zone out.
Two minutes later...
"Are you even listening to anything I'm saying?!"
I am completely unaware of my surroundings, until I feel a hard blow to my chest, and I hear a loud crack. Ian had kicked me in my ribs.
I cough up a little bit of blood, and I look at Ian, only to see that his eyes are dark, cold, and filled with rage.
He didn't even say anything, he just stared at me.
"Fuck, it must be my turn to talk.", I thought.
"I was listening to you, Ian."
I take a deep breath.
"You told me..." My voice trailed off.
Ian rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath. I could clearly see that he was having a hard time of trying not to hit me again.
"I told you to not to wear shit like that. I can see your scars, and they disgust me." He said coldly. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time that he's done this. I was wearing a white racer tank with denim shorts, and black knee-high boots. I know that it was possibly a little bit much, considering the fact, that I was only going to be at home for today.
Anyway, Ian was always policing what I wore. If I wore anything that seemed "revealing" to him, he would punish me, and make me go and change. As a result of his punishments, I had a lot of scars. And when I say that I have a lot of scars, I don't mean just a couple here and there, I'm talking about everywhere. There are scars littering my body in every place possible. Despite the fact that Ian is the main person giving me them, he still thinks that they're ugly, and I have to admit, I don't blame him for thinking that way. I don't like them any more than he doesn't.
"But Ian—"
"BUT IAN NOTHING!!!" He yelled.
He took another deep breath.
"Go down to the basement. You'll be dealt with later."
When he told me to go to the basement, I knew that I was in big trouble.
---
After I got down to the basement, I stayed down there for about 20 minutes, before attempting to talk to him through the door.
"Ian, I'm sorry."
"Shut the fuck up. You knew what you were doing." He replied.
I don't know what came over me, but I got sick of him trying to silence me.
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