,'. The mansion. ,'.

,'. Part three .',

Previously: She took care of me, she'd bring me some food from the kitchen when my parents would try and starve me. She would comfort me when I was sad, and she took after me, papa, and Mia. She was my mother figure, and papa's partner. I only assumed Mia was their child, not caring if she wasn't, so I never asked.

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I finally finished the braid, and tied it with the hair tie. Mia smiled, and stood up and walked to my desk. She picked up a piece of paper, and a pencil. She walked back over to the bed, and sat beside me. "Are you going to draw something?" I asked the girl. She nodded, and proceeded to draw sloppily on the paper.

...

I watched her, watching as she made three stick-like figures, and then her. I assumed it was me, papa, and mama, then adding herself. She drew a tree, and then a small house that looked like the one we were in. She smiled slightly, as she wrote the words; 'My family' sloppily on the paper. I smiled, and brought her into a hug. She gladly returned it, and hugged back. I watched as papa, let out a sad moan, and walked over and brought us into a group-hug.

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Then papa stood up, and picked up mia. Mia's eyes widened, and she was brought back to the closet by her dad. I knew why, I looked at my door. I watched as the door-knob slowly opened revealing my father. I sighed, he was holding his belt. I was prepared for what would happen next.

...

(Warning: Graphic beating, trauma, angst!!)

He walked toward me slowly, a frown on his face. He opened his mouth,

"I don't like doing this y'know." He spoke softly, he did this every time. "I know." My words were cold, I showed no sympathy to this man. He grunted at my cold words, "Stand up." He commanded, I followed his command. I felt like a helpless puppy, following the rules of my horrid owner.

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I stood up from my bed, walking slowly towards him, head facing the ground. I hated this. I never deserved it, why can't my father see that? I walked until I was in front of him, his tall figure stood slightly in front of my door. He raised his hand, I flinched bracing myself. A hard *Smack* was heard, his hand making contact with my pale face. The impact, making a fresh, light pink bruise form. It stood out, since it was darker than my ghastly face, the light pink showing with all my other scars that were scattered along my face. My father sighed, and smacked me again, this time knocking me to the floor.

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I sat against the wood flooring of my room, looking up at him. Tears threatened to prick my eyes, as he showed not even the slightest sympathy. I knew, deep down, my father was a cruel man. Showing, not even the slightest remorse for his own daughter. I grunted as I hit the floor, Eyes wide. Tears, now falling down my face, staining my shirt.

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My lips quivered, as he lifted his hand up, belt in hand. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact. I could feel eyes on me, that weren't his. I gulped, waiting. His hand finally moving, the belt hitting my left eye. *WACK* A loud sound emitted from the hit. He stood there, looking down at me. I had my left eye closed, and my other wide open looking at the man who's supposed to care for me.

...

He continued to hit me, the same place. *WACK* ... *WACK* ... *WACK* ...

Each hit, growing harder. Tears pouring down my face, body shaking. Blood stained clothes, and a black eye, closed as tight as it could be. My father decided that was enough, leaving my room with a frown still planted on his cold face. I expected this.

...

(Warning over) I watched as he left, turning the corner out of my room. I waited a few moments, making sure he wasn't going to come back. I got up, immediately feeling dizzy. My body goes limp, and I fall to the ground. I close my eyes, waiting for impact. But, it never comes. I force my eyes open, only to see two black arms wrapped around me. They set me down on my bed, and slowly, I drift off to sleep.

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