Damsel (Slowly Rewriting)

chapter 1 / tw

IM COMING BACK HERE 8M READS LATER I AM SO SO SORRY FOR THE GRAMMAR AND SPELLING MISTAKES THIS WAS MY FIRST BOOK I AM EDITING IT PLEASE BE NICE OKAY I LOVE YOU THANK YOU

^^years later now at 18 million???? wow u guys are so AMAZING. also this book was written when i was so so young and now i understand self harm is triggering to some so if you're sensitive to graphic content please just skip this page!!! take care of yaselves babies

Lacey

I sat in my last block of the day, math. My hands shook with fear as I tried filling in the answer. I was terrified about what was to come. I knew for a fact that once I got home, he would be angry. It wasn't just a typical angry either, like a regular scold someone would give you for a small mistake. It was brutal, violent, and unwavering. I quickly looked down at my flimsy watch, my eyes bulging out of my head as I saw the time. It was 2:07.

I was late. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I turned in the test, my hands still trembling.

My teacher eyed me with questioning eyes as I scurried out of class, quickly grabbing my belongings and schoolwork. I ignored her remarks that were calling me back into class, my feet were carrying my body without second though.

I exited the school building, running home as fast as I could. My eyes welled up. I had to bite my tongue from crying out when I thought about what was to come. The anticipation was almost as horrendous as the actions.

I'm so fucked.

I opened the mahogany door to my small, iota of a house. The first thing I saw were my fathers angry, red eyes. They were glossy, his eyelids low and bloodshot. He held an empty liquor bottle in his meaty hands, his knuckles turning white. I was almost certain that the bottle was about to shatter. I avoided eye contact, I believed in my heart that looking him in the eyes only made him more angry, for some reason.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He screeched, and grabbed my bony wrist.

"I w-was finishing up a test, sir. I'm s-sorry." I replied, my voice coming out in small pants.

"Does it look like I care? Make me dinner!" He growled, slapping me hard across my face.

His touch felt like needles against my once creamy skin that was now bruised, and battered. I couldn't remember the last time I wasn't obligated to wear intense color correcting concealer in order to hide my wounds.

I quickly started making him dinner, occasionally hearing the grunts come from my father as he watched the telly. My face still burned with pain, however I tried to ignore it.

"Here you go, sir." I said in a small voice.

"You disgusting pig!" He said while throwing the food at me. "This isn't what I asked for, is it?" He didn't ask for anything in specific, so I bit my tongue.

The plate shattered against the tiled floor, while he grabbed my blonde locks so tightly that he lifted me off the ground.

I winced, trying hard not to cry when he slammed me against the walled. I felt a strong pain in my lower back, where I could already feel the bruises forming. "You stupid whore, so ungrateful of everything I do for you! You're a disgusting, fat pig! You disrespected me one too many times today!" He spewed in my face. He was so close to me that I could smell his liquor- scented breath.

"I'm s-sorry sir. It'll never happen again." My small frame shook. His large, rough hand wrapped around my neck and threw me against the floor. I winced, feeling a crack in my elbow.

After a few dozen kicks in the rib cage and face, he left.

I stayed in fatal position until I heard him leave, probably to a bar to get drunk, again.

I crawled up into my room, and stripped off my clothing. I hated my body, so much. I was pale, my once smooth skin was now covered in cuts and bruises. I had a large scar under my left breast, and multiple across my wrists, thighs, and back. Some, perhaps most, were self inflicted. My father was the one whom created the bruises.

My once bright, emerald eyes had turned to the color of moss on a rainy day. I wasn't happy, I wasn't sad. I was emotionless. I hurt myself because it's the only way I feel in control. I walked into the shower, wincing once the steaming hot water hit my cuts, burning them.

I washed myself, and let out a choked sob as I did so.

What did I do wrong? I never understood. I have treated my father, and everyone around me with nothing but kindness my entire life. I was a kept in person, shy, but a soft heart. That's what I don't understand. How can someone's feelings for you change that quickly? How can someone go from being a loving, caring person towards you then the next day turn on you? Or even worse, physically and mentally abuse you?

I climbed out of the shower, quickly wrapping an old torn up towel around my small frame. I looked through my drawers, finding my trusted razor. I slowly, but harshly drug the small piece of metal across my wrist. A weight on my shoulders finally lifted once did the task that made me feel such guilt afterwards.

I watched the blood ooze from the deep cuts, and a sick part of me enjoyed watching it. I poured alcohol on my arm, screaming when it felt like my arm was on fire. I slipped on my hoodie and leggings and climbed into my old, worn mattress. I shivered when the night began to get colder, trying to warm myself up and the chills spread through my body.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping maybe tomorrow will be better.

Praying that tomorrow will be better.
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Hey guys! This is my first book, so bare with me! Who would you like to play the role as Lacey? Let me know in the comments :) By the way, if any of this was triggering for you in any way, I apologize. I used to self harm constantly, so please if you're sad message me. I care.

Also, if you are a victim of domestic abuse, reach out. You will find refuge. I believe in you.
Much love,
--Corinne--