Pierced Heart

Chapter 6

*A year and 10 months later*

I was sitting in the living room watching something on TV. I wasn't really paying any attention so I wasn't quite sure what it was as I was too busy thinking about the lovely date Finn and I went on at the week end. My dad was away for the week, following some band on tour so I had the house to myself. 

I was quite happy going through the memories of the weekend when I herd the front door open and slam shut. Hard. 

"Finn is that you?" I shouted out, panic building inside me. The panic started to grow more when I didn't get a reply. I was just about to run when Finn walked round the corner into the kitchen. 

"What the fuck Finn, why didn't you answer, you scared the shit out of me!" I asked him anger building in me. However I immediately regretted speaking to him like that when I looked at his face noticing that it was bright red with anger. 

"Finn are you okay?" I asked, my voice breaking slightly as the nerves started building. 

Next thing I knew he was standing right in front of me holding my arms tightly so that I could feel bruises forming. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath on mine. 

"Finn what’s happened? What have I done?" I asked him gently. Bad choice. Asking him those two simple questions seemed to have set him off and he was so angry I swear I could see steam coming out of his ears. 

One moment he was holding me by the arms and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor a burning sensation across the left side of my face. 

Finn had slapped me. He slapped me. Hard as well. I couldn't believe it. My mouth opened wide as I lay on the floor looking up at him with disbelief. I looked at his stance and it was dominating. I then looked in his eyes and for the first time, they weren't a nice clam blue like they usually were. No in stead they looked very dark, almost like a storm had formed behind his eyes and he looked scary. I didn't like it. 

"Finn whatever I have I had done, I'm sorry. Please just stop and lets talk about it." I begged him, tear streaming down my face. This was the first time I hated my dad for leaving. 

However begging him to stop only seemed to make him angrier. I felt his foot deliver a harsh blow to my stomach and the wind was knocked out of me. This happened over and over again. 

When he finally stopped kicking me, all he did was turn on his heel and walk back out the front door, slamming it again as he shut it.  

He left me only floor crying and I pain. The worst thing was that I didn't even see a glimpse of guilt or remorse as he left. No instead I saw a look of disgust that was aimed in my direction. 

I curled in to a ball and cried, glad that my dad wasn't going to be home for another 4 days, meaning that I had a couple of days to nurse my bruises.