hold my hand // a.u punk l.h

; two ;

((currently listening tooooo

bite my tongue - you me at six

if you can't hang - sleeping with sirens

teenage dirtbag - wheatus

black parade - my chemical romance

try hard - 5 seconds of summer

don't judge me for my varied playlist))

I'd been sat in this room for another hour after he left, alone. My stomach was growling; I hadn't eaten for days. He would give me water, but I was lucky to get that.

I needed to escape.

I looked around the room, and stood up again. My knee was hurting me so much.

He had locked all the windows and doors up here, so I couldn't just climb out and run.

I searched for a key in obvious places, but had no luck.

I could hear him coming up the stairs, so I walked as quickly as I could to my usual corner and stayed standing,

"I'm going out. Don't do anything," He said, then laughed, "Like you could do anything."

A few minutes later I heard the door slam and the car start outside. I stood up again, and tried to find something that could help me break the door.

All that was in here was a bed, broken phone, a mirror and dressing table.

I decided searching through the dressing table was my best option.

I tried opening the top draw.

Locked.

I tried opening the second draw.

Locked.

I tried opening the third draw, expecting it to be locked, but it opened.

It was empty. It probably had my clothes in it before.

I could feel myself welling up. I was surprised I could still cry, honestly. The amount of tears that have spilled from my eyes these past few months is ridiculous.

I tugged at the draw, then noticed it slipped at the sides.

I pulled it out completely. There was nothing at the back, and I sighed.

I threw the draw as far as I could, whimpering as my arm ached from bruises.

It smashed into the door, leaving a crack in it.

My face lit up. I could get out.

I grabbed the draw again and threw it harder to the door. More wood cracked, making a whole now. I used my hands to rip parts away until it was big enough for me to get out.

"Oh my God." I shouted, tears streaming down my face; and good tears for once.

I slipped through the whole, rubbing my hands against the back of my head.

3 months, I had been locked away because of that psycho, Tom, who I thought was my boyfriend.

After his Dad died, he got crazy. He started getting more and more angry about things, and he couldn't get time off work for the funeral; time off work meant no pay, no pay meant no rent money, no rent money meant being kicked out.

His Mom and sister died in a car accident not long after, and I could understand that he would be upset and angry for the first few weeks, maybe even months, but 2 years later he still took his fustrations out on me, like it was my fault, and I couldn't understand it.