Sorrel's P.O.V
I looked up at the night sky, yelling prominent through my ears even though I'm outside. 'Mom and Dad are fighting again...' I thought to myself. They're always fighting, always fucking arguing. I sigh and turned around to the place that I once called home and went inside. The moment I stepped in I flinched at the volume of the noise. I looked up and saw them in a heated argument. "NONE OF THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU-!" I sighed as I listened to them argue. They perked up at hearing the door open and looked attentively at me, almost beckoning for me to come over. My parents looked between each other and then at me and signaled for me to "fix" their argument. 'Always the same fucking shit every time. They start an argument, I sit and listen to them bitch about and to each other for an hour and I'm the one who has to play judge, jury and executioner because of their bullshit.' I sat on the couch and signaled to hear out their so-called "points" for why they're right. 'The only person who's ever right is the person who helps them file for divorce...' I thought to myself. The yelling had long since filtered through my ears as I had long grown used to it by now. And so the yelling and bitching began to start up again.
I sighed as I was still sat on the couch and watched them scream their throats off as if they didn't need them for the morning. I stared at the time on the wall and it said 10:44 p.m. 'Their yelling had started again when it had just turned 8:01... That means they were arguing for 2 hours, 43 minutes and 54 seconds while I was here.' I had learned to count the hours, minutes and seconds after the 3 year mark of their arguing and fights and I was slowly growing tired of their bullshit. "Mom's the winner. I can't fucking do this anymore." I stood up off the couch and started to stalk off to my room. Mom was yelling in excitement and dad was trying to persuade me to stay and actually choose the "winner". He got in front of me and tried to make me stay once more."C'mon sweetheart! Can't you just stay-" I cut him off. "Dad, it's almost 11 p.m. for fuck's sake! Just let mom have it this time and let it the fuck go!" He started to get pissed. "Don't take that fucking tone with me young lady! I am your father and you will do as I say!" I was getting a headache at his stubbornness. "The only thing I'm doing is going to bed. If you were my father, you wouldn't be arguing with mom over the smallest shit! Good-fucking-night you piece of-" Dad grabbed me by the back of my collar and punched me. Mom stopped her celebrating and gasped. I coughed violently, trying to get air back in my lungs. Blood had started to run down my nose and I felt a bruise starting to form. "You will fucking listen to me and that. is. that." I couldn't take it anymore. "LISTEN TO WHAT EXACTLY? YOU AND MOM BITCH AND MOAN AT EACHOTHER FOR HOURS ON END!? MAKE ME THE JUDGE, JURY AND EXCECUTIONER FOR ALL YOUR ARGUMENTS? SAY "OH SHE'S RIGHT" OR "OH HE'S WRONG" JUST BECAUSE I'M YOUR FUCKING CHILD!? TO HELL WITH STAYING IN THIS GODDAMN SHITHOLE! I'M GOING TO BED! FUCK YOU YOU PRICK!" I gave my dad the middle finger and stormed off to my room with my dad shouting at me to come back the whole way through.
TW up ahead‼️
After all the adrenaline from shouting left me I entered my room and made sure my door was locked before slumping to the floor. I thought back to what happened just a few minutes ago and salty, bitter tears slid down my face as I cried in anger. 'It's not fucking fair...! I'm the one to always fix their messes when they fight, always the one who decides who's victor...Why do I have to clean up after them? It's not fair..." "IT'S NOT FUCKING FAIR!" I shouted at the empty room and in return heard a faint 'Shut up!' from my father. After letting my tears fall I looked up and glanced around my room. Old photos, a few books, my mirror... My eyes finally rested on my desk and the only thing I could see was the razor.I drew in a shaky breath. Before I could spiral any deeper however, mom knocked on my door. "Honey? Are you alright in there...? Look... I'm sorry I didn't stick up for you when your father hit you alright? I was just... caught up in my own world. In any case, I'm still sorry. Try and get some rest okay?" Her words felt genuine and I almost felt myself believing her, but my thoughts went rampant. 'You don't think she actually cares about you right?' 'She's only saying that shit because you let her win the argument.' 'She's probably just delusional. You know how she gets when she starts thinking about an actual family.' The garbled voices of unfamiliar people snickered and sneered in my head. Before I knew it my feet had moved on my own, and I was at my desk, just looking at the razor. 'Just do it...' They all commanded. 'You know you want to...' I picked up the razor and pushed the item against my lower arm...
The small hints of iron in the air didn't feel out of place. The burning sensation on my lower arm didn't feel out of place either. It felt calming. It felt like it could go on for ages, but I knew it had to stop. After eventually pulling away, I checked the damage with cold, lifeless eyes. "Eight new scars..." To others, it might have looked ugly, disgusting even, but to me? It looked like the works of a renowned artist. The simple lines looked like intricate patterns to me. One part beautiful, one part disgusting. I wanted to keep going, I needed to keep going, but I knew I couldn't, so I wrapped up the scars in old bandages I had found and washed my hands. I don't know when or why that became a habit of mine, to wash my hands after cutting myself. There was no blood on them from the cutting, so there was no need for it, yet I still did it anyway. Was it to hide it from my parents? To hide it from others? To hide it from myself? I didn't know the answer to those questions, but I always felt I needed to in case I got caught. I didn't let myself get too caught up in my thoughts however, and went to bed, not caring if the scars hurt or not.
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𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝙸𝚏 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍, 𝙸𝚝'𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?
FanfictionSorrel Williams grew up like any child in her younger years, but as time went on, her family had built itself off of lies, empty words and broken promises. Will Sorrel be able to keep up with these words and hollow feelings? Or will scars and contin...
