His Mission

Your Death Left Me Battered & Bruised.

HIS MISSION

Dedicated to my loving partner, Daniel. Thank you for being my 'Jake', and showing me there was a light during one of the darkest times of my life. You inspired me to keep writing.

Chapter One

We all experience pain.

That's what I try to tell myself as I'm drowning in darkness every single day.

"When are you going to learn to do as I tell you? Is it really that fucking difficult?" Trevor hisses in disgust while standing over my petite body. His face is burning red and he's seething with anger. My palms stick to the tiled floor, but I use all my strength to push myself away from him. The wall greets my back, and I'm left with no other option but to face him. Despite being accustomed to his wrath, my body continues to shake as if it's the first time all over again. My heart thuds in my ears like an echoing drum that seems to be getting louder with every passing second.

I keep my head hanging low in fear that I'll accidentally make eye contact with him. He hates that.

He views eye contact as a challenge for him to continue breaking me down until I'm quivering due to his mere presence. Trevor's hands curl up into a tight fist, and I immediately tense my entire body as I prepare for the impact. A scream slips through my lips the second his fists connect with me.

"Stop! You don't have to do this! I promise I'll do better next time!" I yell, pleading with him. My screams of agony fall upon deaf ears so I give up and lie on the floor motionlessly, allowing him to torture me like his little rag doll.

*

I used to pull silly faces at myself in the mirror when I was younger. Ever since Trevor came into my life, I hate looking in mirrors. I hate that he took that simple childlike pleasure away from me. My reflection is everything that is wrong with my life. The longer I stare at myself, the blurrier my vision grows. Tears brim my dark eyes, but I reach up to hastily wipe them away. I refuse to cry anymore because I know that's what he wants, and I won't ever give him the satisfaction.

Suffering is shown in many different forms, but my own suffering won't be reflected in my tears.

There's a small section of my dark hair that's missing. The strands are sparse, and my scalp is swollen due to the forceful action of him tearing out my hair. I trail my finger down my cheek and around my eye where the stinging is beginning to fade. The start of a tender bruise begins to form in its place, and I wince hoping it doesn't spread over too much of my face. I bite my bottom lip to suppress the cries I want to release as I lift my shirt to inspect the damage. Dark ugly bruises trail down the side of my body, almost taking the shape of Trevor's foot and fists. I would be impressed with his strength if I wasn't on the receiving end of it.

My gaze travels over to the framed picture sitting on my nightstand. It's a photograph taken of me on my sixth birthday. I'm sitting on my father's shoulders while holding tightly onto the dark strands of his wavy hair. There's a sparkle in my eyes, and my smile is filled with pride. Dad mirrors my expression, and we both look like the picturesque version of Daddy and daughter. I remember the fond memory of him holding my pink dinosaur cake while singing happy birthday. He told me to make a wish, and I remember wishing for my father to spend every birthday with me... My wish didn't come true. He died suddenly the following month, leaving behind his only child with a shattered heart and a broken future.

"I wish you were still here," I whisper while taking a seat on the edge of my bed. I lift the picture up to my lips before pressing a gentle kiss against the cold glass. My father wouldn't allow anything bad to happen to me. He would banish Trevor away from my life, and I would never have to live in fear again. My eyes flutter closed, and I take several deep breaths to calm the storm brewing inside my chest. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes when I realize I'm never going to see my father ever again...