How to stitch wounds

8.Punishment

Micheal POV

I walked up the steps nervously. The threat from this morning still rattling around my head.
Maybe he's to drunk to remember?
I asked myself hopefully only to open the door and be proven wrong. The living room was dark and was filled with the smell of drugs and alcohol. My father was sitting in his chair and watching tv and hadn't realized I was home yet.

I avoid him and make my way upstairs to my room, not wanting to agitate him.

As I shut my door I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I quickly get out my homework and set up my desk to make look like I was busy.
If I could, I would have locked my door, except me lock had been switched to one on the outside of my room.

I turned on my lamp, my heart hammering against my rib cage. Just as I was about to start my work, my door opened. I quickly stood up, giving the man in my room my full attention.

"You weren't gonna tell me you were home?" He asks with a devious smile.

"I thought you were asleep, I didn't want to wake you." It was the best excuse I could think of at the moment and I just hoped it would work.

"No, I'm wide awake." He says as he makes his way closer to me. I could feel my hands trembling as I stood there, not knowing what to do. He glanced over at my homework.

"Calculus, I was never good at that." He says, looking back at me then around my room.

"Why do you always organize your junk? You should just throw it somewhere and be done with it. You're so tedious." He mumbles.

"I-I just find it easier to find what I need." I answer, not wanting to cause trouble. My father seemed surprisingly calm.

He made his way to my bed and sat down with a groan. He pats the bed, signaling for me to sit down beside him. When I don't respond, he grabs my arm and forces me to.
I wince slightly at the contact due to my wounds.

"You're almost, what, 16-17?" He asks.
"I'm 18" I respond quietly.
"Right, have you thought about moving out or getting a job, a nice car maybe? I would love to teach you how to fix her up."

Sometimes I forget my dad was diagnosed with bpd,( borderline personality disorder) and forget that he can be a good man on his good days. It's seems that in the past couple of years though, that the bad days increase and the few good days he has, have been starting to run low.

" I had a job once." I say nervously, trying not to upset him in his good mood.
"Get caught in the bathroom with a chick, that why you got fired?" He laughs.

I force a laugh as well.
"No, I had to quit, after mom left." I say sadly.
My father looks at me with a frown and nods.

"Oh yeah, sorry bout that. We never talk about your mother do we?" He asks.

"It's a touchy subject." I smile sadly.
"For who, you or me." He laughs.
"For both of us, but mostly you." I mumble.

He nods again.

"I took my medicine today." He states with a small smile.

That's why he's better than this morning.

"Ok good, you should take it more often." I sigh. I get up and make my way to my desk and start my homework.
"I'm not that bad when I'm not on my medications, am I?" He asks.

Hearing the anger in his tone I quickly turn around. "No, it's just, I think you're better when you take them." I say quickly.

"Why?" He says threateningly as he gets up from the bed.

"Dad it's not a big deal." I say, fear lacing my tone.

My father grabs me by the front of my shirt and throws me to the floor.

"Am I violent? Do I scare you?" He says angrily.
"N-no!" I say, trying to crawl away from him.
He then gets on top of me, his weight crushing my stomach.
"Do I...hurt you?" He says menacingly.

"Dad,please." I beg, loosing the air to my lungs.
"I'm sorry." I say as tears began falling down my cheeks. He laughs at my vulnerability. He then begins to undo his belt, leaning towards my ear.
"You thought I would forget, did you?"
I close my eyes and bight my tongue and tasting the metal flavor to keep myself from voicing my pain as my father violated me.
Please make it stop! Please! I cried to myself.

After what felt like an eternity, he stopped. Getting up and staring at my body, the bruises and red marks. All the damage he had caused.

"You'll do better to mind your words next time." He laughs.
I wait until I hear the door open and close before opening my eyes. 
I choose to lay there for a few minutes to be sure that he's gone before struggling to get up. I use my bed as a support. As I begin to reprocess what happened, tears flood my eyes.

What did I do to deserve this? Why does he do this?

I finally get of the ground and make my way to the bathroom, locking the door and stripping what little clothes I had on afterwards. I step into the shower feeling the hot water loosen my tense muscles and all the emotions I held. I sunk to my knees and cried. I let everything I was feeling out as quietly as I could. When the shower ran cold and snapped me back to reality, I decided to get out and change into pajamas. I quietly went back to my bedroom, shutting the door and spending the rest of the night on homework, afraid of disappointing my teachers as well.