After being verbally, physically, emotionally and sexually abused for 10 years, Alessia Stevenson finally ended her number one problem.
Her stepfather
After being taken into custody by her real father, she is forced to live with him and her 6 older...
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It hurts Everything hurts And, it's all my fault. Maybe, maybe if I had given up years ago, I would have been happier. Or at least that's what I used to think. The dark void that is death, seemed like a much better option than my life. Everyday, I had to spend fighting for my life, quite literally. My father, or should I say, step-father, Markus Stevenson, abused me everyday. It was like his life's mission was to make mine miserable. Like- did he not have a life or something, that he needed to spend it tormenting a child?
My ribs are burning, crying out in agony, there's two broken, at least, my ankle is broken, my shoulder dislocated, and my back and stomach littered with words that had been etched into my skin, I guess today's beating was worse than the others. He must have been high.
Right?
———————————————————— (Flashback:) I got home later than usual today, an hour later. I knew what was coming when I got home, I knew what was going to happen. I had a stupid fucking detention, for apparently 'not listening in class', yet when she asked me to recite what she said, I recited it all. Perfectly might I add, and word for word. But she always had to have the last word and gave me a detention for talking back to a teacher. So here I am now, standing in front of the place I call 'home', bracing myself for what's yet to come when I open the door. Sucking in a deep breath, I twisted the doorknob, and cautiously stepped in. I was only a foot through the door, when I was shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind me.
"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN SLUT," he yelled.
I didn't answer, well, I didn't exactly have time to. Markus punched me multiple times onto my abdomen, making me double over in pain, only for him to knee me in the face. Making me slumped against the wall, smearing blood everywhere. But he didn't care, I'd have to clean it all up anyways.
"ANSWER ME," he demanded, whilst throwing a punch to the side of my face. Making me spit out the metallic taste of blood that had pooled in my mouth.
"At school, Sir. I had a deten-"
I was cut off with a slap to the face. I tried to get back up, failing miserably obviously, only for him to step onto my shoulder, sending a shooting pain up my arm, making me cry out pain.
"DID I SAY YOU COULD TALK?"
Yes. Yes you did, you bipolar bitch.
But I just shook my head meekly. Then the angry footsteps retreated. I closed my eyes and sighed in relief, thinking it was over, when a plate was suddenly thrown at my face. Upon impact, it shattered instantly, digging itself into my skin. He threw more, and more, and more.
