I Love To Hate You

Chapter 47: "My mouth feels like a piece of sandpaper."

I don’t know how to describe the feeling running through my body when my Father slowly walked up to me brandishing a knife; the promise of what he was going to do with that knife glinting evilly in his eyes as he did.

“Why couldn’t you just keep your whore mouth shut dear?” He whispered hoarsely running the tip of the knife over his fingers carefully. He watched the blade rather than look at me as he asked his question and I felt anger bubble inside me. He couldn’t even look at me?

“She was my Mum! Why do think I told them everything you vile man,” I said watching his face. Waiting for him to strike.

Finally, his eyes left the blade and met mine. His were cold, dead to the world as he smiled back at me.

“Spoken like her daughter. She would have been so proud.” He whispered and slowly he reached out with the knife.

I felt the coldness of the metal first on my bare shoulder, then the pain of it slicing through my skin as he pulled downwards to my elbow. The pain was hot and sharp. It ripped a guttural scream from my mouth and he laughed in return, relishing in my pain.

“This is going to be fun.” He breathed holding the now blood stained knife in front of his eyes.

I looked down at my arm and felt my stomach squirm, he cut too deep. The blood was flowing freely to the ground, my white dress now turning pink from my own blood.

“Why? Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? You won! You killed her! You destroyed me! Why did you have to do all this?” I cried through my teeth. If I was going to die I was at least going to get some answers.

He didn’t answer. He just plunged the knife into my exposed thigh and left it there.

Now, this time, the pain was so strong I felt the world slip from my view for a minute as I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me.

“Ah ah! Don’t fall asleep now! We were just getting to the good part.” I heard him call over my pain, then the knife was being pulled back out of my leg and I could feel the blood pouring down my legs to my ankles and then the floor.

“Oh God,” I groaned my head lolling as I fought to stay conscience.

“That’s it. Now, you wanted to know why I done it? Why I slit your precious Mothers throat? Why I killed her in cold blood: my own wife?”

As he spoke I saw the images I had been repressing all these years. The pool of my Mum’s blood by her bloody head. My Dad laughing eerily over her body as he plunged the knife again and again into her lifeless body.

I was never meant to be there. But I was sneaking in from a party, trying not to get caught; and instead I catch my own Father murdering my Mother. My beautifully kind Mother.

The pain in my body was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

“Tell me.” I spat, trying my hardest to ignore the pain, to ignore my brain as it tried to get my body to fall asleep.

“She was having an affair. With my brother no less! Ha. Well I showed them.” He said looking back at the knife like it was a long lost child.

“No she wasn’t! She would never cheat on you! No matter how much you drank or gambled! She stuck with you!” I screamed angered that he was trying to tarnish her name.

The knife slashed through my cheek next, then; before I could fully register the fresh wound, his fist crashed into my jaw causing the chair to crash to the floor. It landed badly on my wrist and with a sickening ‘crack’ I knew it was broke. The pain rivalling the one in my thigh.