By: ZaynsDjess ;D
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Do you ever feel like dirt; a nobody, a nothing, a plaything? Do you ever hurt so much that you wish you could just suffocate in your own sorrow to end yourself? Or, do you ever take a blade to your wrist to see how much it bleeds? Do you ever be mean just to get people to leave you alone? Do you ever feel more twisted than a knot, screwed and barely breathing?
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"Get in here, fag! I told you to do the damn dishes! You can't do anything, you worthless piece of rubbish!" His spit splattered across my face as I neared him. I yelped in pain as he twisted my arm behind my back and pushed me to the sink. My face cracked against the metal faucet causing an extreme pain to throttle my head. It took me a few seconds to adjust and realize that he was kicking the backs of my knees. The pain consumed me and I fell down, clutching my body parts, hoping that he would let off early tonight. Luck is never on my side. He beat me until blood covered the tiles on the kitchen floor--my blood.
***
"Babe, you know that I hate it when you don't do what I tell you. Remember, you're nothing without me. Now, finish the dishes. And clean your blood off the floor, stupid. Then, come to bed. I have a surprise for you there. Come on, wake up!" The familiar alcohol scent flooded my nostrils. I slowly cracked my eyes open and was met with his face right by mine.
"Hustle!" He shouted before cracking my face. Slowly getting up, I clutched my head. It was about to split open. So was my heart. Oh, wait, it already did. Where does the rest of the pain go then? If we don't have a heart, then what gets the damage instead? Our dignity? Our spirit? Our happiness? Ourselves? Everything. It all goes down the drain. Or maybe they take it as a souvenir. I think he did. He stood up and chuckled. I could clearly see a tint in his trousers. My breathing stopped; I should just hang myself. Bile rose in my throat, and I looked away, meeting my dried blood all over the floor. Time to get the sponge. I better hurry, he needs me like I need an escape.
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"You little slut, you're so good for me. Now, make some dinner. And don't screw it up this time, you ugly little whore." My insides twisted. It's a love/hate thing. Limping to the kitchen, I clutched my stomach so I wouldn't throw up. Wind slapped the windows, causing a whisking sound. It sounded comforting in a way. It was better than listening to the emptiness of my insides. If you listen long enough, a ringing settles in your ear. There's nothing. Maybe I could take a walk? Would Matthew mind? I looked behind me to see the empty hallway. He'll never come for me. He said it himself, I have no one; not even him. I'm unloved. Grabbing my jacket, I looked back at the hell I've been living at for the past 3 years. What can I say? He likes them young. Now I'm 19, and too old for him. My body is too bent up from his abuse. Ugly.
The door creaked lightly. Footsteps approached.
"Zayn, are you done with dinner yet?" My heart pounded. I almost turned around, but the adrenaline pushed my feet forward. Running and running and running.
"ZAYN! Don't you leave me! You little whore, get back here!" No more pain to seal. No more lies. I'm free. I'm free from his grasp, but this pain will follow me forever. Wind slapped my face, but I didn't pay much mind to it. My surroundings were blurred from my speed. It feels so good to run. I haven't gotten out of the house much for the entire time I've lived there.
I crashed into something and fell back on my aching bum.
"OUCH!" I screeched.
"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!" A doe-eyed boy said. His head was shaved, and he had a perfect birthmark on his neck. I blinked stupidly as a hand shot in front of my face.
