The Rockstar and the Poet

Chapter 14

"What the hell! Ana Smith get your god damn ass down here right now!" I dad scream. I jumped straight out of my bed in fear. Why is he yelling at me for. I got out of bed and I threw my robe on to hide the Ace-bandages. I ran like a cheetah to see why my father was so mad. I went in the and there my father was. He was giving me the murder look, his nose was flared, he was as red as a tomato because he was so mad.

"Why does my knife have blood on it?" He interrogated. I was shaking like a Chihuahua. I couldn't speak. "Answer me when I am fucken talking to you!" He yelled.

I took a deep breathe and told my dad, "I was cutting myself." I rolled up the sleeves from my robe and unwrapped the bandages.

When I was finished unwrapping both Ace-bandages I showed my father the giant cuts I painfully put on my arm. "You cut yourself with my god damn knife. And you didn't even wash the fucken knife. You are in a load of god damn trouble."  He screamed. He quickly and stubbornly grabbed me by my long brown hair and pulled me to the living room.

 When we walked into the living room he stung me around by my hair. When I was facing him He swung his arm and slapped me across the back. I lost my balance and fell. cheek slammed into the corner of the coffee table and I landed on my back.The back of my head slammed onto the floor.

"You think it's okay to get my things all fucken messy and not even clean it? Well I'll teach you." He whispered into my ear. He grabbed my foot and dragged my back into the kitchen. He went into the drawers and pulled out a metal spatula.

"You think it's okay to make my thing messy?" He yelled to me and started smacking me with the metal spatula. He whacked me over and over again. The pain got more and more worse every time he whacked me.

As he was hitting me he kept repeating, "You think it's okay make my thing messy? Well do you?" I tried to answered him because I knew he would keep hitting until I answered him but I couldn't say a word because he was hitting so badly.

I finally got enough energy to say, "No. It's not okay. I'm sorry and it won't happen again." he finally stopped hitting me and said, "Good. If you ever do something like this ever again then I will do something 10x worse than being hit with a metal spatula. Got it?" he explained. I nodded my head. He place the metal spatula back into the drawer. "Now clean up my god damn knife or else I will get back out the spatula." He demand and walked upstairs. Leaving me there, on the floor in pain.

When I got the energy I Got up and washed the knife. When I was done washing the knife I place back in the drawer where I found it. I went upstairs and into the bathroom. My cheek was purple and blue. It was also throbbing and swelling. I grabbed a rag and wetted it with cold water. I placed the cold, wet rag on my horrible looking cheek. I wetted it again and again for about an hour.

When I was finished I hung up the rag to dry and walked into my bedroom. I looked at the clock and it was 4:15 in the morning. I went into my dresser and pulled out a whit V-neck Tee shirt and a pair of black baggy sweatpants. I hopped on my bed and lied down. 

A tear fell out of my eye at the disappointment of my own father not caring that cut myself but car about the fact that I forgot to clean the tool I used to cut myself with. I guess my father really truly did not care a single bit about me. I felt so alone.

I went under my bed to retrieve my diary. I went through the pages until I found a blank one. When I did I wrote:

Dear mommy,

I have now came to sense that dad does not care about be at all. I have always thought he at least care about be just a little but I was wrong. I am always wrong. So now My father does even care about, Not even a little and Jackson has totally broke my heart. Please come for me mommy. I don't think I can take pain like this. I don't think I will survive this.

-Ana Smith 

I closed my diary and put it back under my bed. I lied back down on my bed. I turned my lamp off and closed my eyes.