「Warning, the following content contains sensitive topics such as; Swearing, Gore description, Use of weapons, Abuse, Etc. If you have a problem with these topics, feel free to leave now. Reader discretion is advised.」
Travis Phelps POV - Sunday morning 04/11/19XX
I woke up bright and early as I always do. I headed down to the kitchen as soon as I got dressed and began cooking silently. Ever since mom 'left', I've been the one having to cook for both me and my father but for some odd reason I was so tired and out of it that I dozed off a few times. I fell asleep for about five minutes before moving everything to the plates and walking to set them on the table.
My father came down stairs as I sat in my chair. I was half asleep and couldn't understand a thing but he was yelling and screaming at me once he came into the kitchen. It wasn't until he had pulled me up by my hair that I realized what happened. Everything had been burnt.
I quickly started apologizing as I woke up due to the adrenaline from the pain and yelling. He didn't listen to anything and ended up tossing me to the ground. I tumbled to the floor and looked up at him, about to apologize again before he slammed his foot into my torso, knocking the air out of me. I gasped and began coughing before he grabbed my head and pounded it into the drawers, making bruises and gashes appear and form.
I began trying to fight back by then, but that just made everything worse. He began kicking me more violently in the chest and stomach, soon making blood, saliva, stomach acid, and mucus spill out of my throat. I tried to gasp for air but I couldn't breathe much due to the new blockage of the liquids.
He soon brought me up by my hair again and slammed the side of my head into the sink, busting my lip open and making my nose bleed. I panted and coughed from the loss of air and the feeling of blood oozing out of my mouth. He let me go and I slid down as I teared up and looked at the man that wasn't just an abuser, but a murderer and a priest. Everything he would be accused of was brushed off.
By the time he was done, I was on the brink of passing out but I knew it would be a bad idea to do so. I soon pulled myself to the shelves under the sink and took out a first aid kit. I began cleaning myself up and patching my wounds before looking across the kitchen. I then noticed a tooth on the floor and panicked. I felt around the inside of my mouth and found where it had come from.
It was only half of the tooth. The bottom half was still deep in my gums. I picked it up silently and tried to walk to my room the best I could. It was more of a limp that turned to a crawl once I got to the top step. I pulled myself up using the door handle to my room and weakly walked in before closing the door and collapsing again.
I curled up on the floor and began to cry. I refused to cry in front of my father. I didn't want him to have the satisfaction of making me upset. He didn't deserve it. He never did. And so I suck it up until I'm finally alone. I'm so tired of him. I'm tired of remembering what he did to my mom. I'm tired of fearing him. I'm tired of being his victim.
One day he'll get what's coming to him.
