"Get the fuck up." An angry voice boomed, jolting me out of bed. I looked to my alarm clock on my nightstand. The red blocky numbers shown 4:13 a.m. "Why? Its so early." I asked, disgruntled, slumping back down in my warm bed.
"It's my day off, go away." I called from my spot under my comforter. "I am your stepmother, you listen to me!" She screeched before kicking my boxspring. "Get your ass out of bed, now!" She yelled, earning a less than impressed scoff.
"Don't you have the rest of the world to bother?" I questioned, covering my head with my blankets to rid myself of the sight that was my horrid stepmother.
My covers were rudely peeled from above my head to reveal the short woman with long scraggly dirty blonde hair and glassy blue eyes. "What the fuck do you want?" I asked her, clearly irritated by her presence.
"I need more beer. Go get it." She demanded drunkenly. "No. Fuck off." I grumbled before rolling over and finally going back to sleep.
I had been welcomed and secure in the sweet surrender of sleep before feeling the hard wooden floor embrace my back with a loud thud, causing me to gasp for the sudden air loss.
"Why the hell did you do that?" I asked loudly. "Why were you being a bitch to her?" My fathers voice rang out. "What? She's the one who got drunk and wanted to scream at me to buy her beer at four a.m.!" I defended myself angrily.
"If that's what happened then why is she upset and telling me you punched her? You stupid little bitch." He seethed, hatred and rage dripping from every word as raw fear filled my entire being.
"What did I do?" I asked from my bed in a small voice, my hands beginning to shake as I had gotten up to look at him better in my dark bedroom.
His greasy dirty blonde hair hung over his eyes in a shaggy mess. His stained white tank top hung loosely from his broad shoulders while his ripped denim jeans barely hugged his hips
"What did you do? Like you don't fucking know?" He asked, sounding even more angry before a hard slap announced itself on my cheek. Instinctively my cool hand went to gently hold my burning flesh. "I don't know what I did." I answered quietly.
"Don't you start crying you God damn slut. I didn't even hit you that hard." He seethed, and it was then I had realized I had began to cry, that I had shown him weakness, and that what was to come would be so much worse than a hard slap.
"I'm sorry. I won't do it again." I quietly apologized to the floor, not daring to get back up. "I know. I'll make sure of it this time." He chuckled darkly before a large fist with bony knuckles to my chin had rendered me unconscious.
I don't know how long I was knocked out for, but when I had woken up I felt my hands and feet were bound and there was an uncomfortable wooden chair under me.
Looking around me I saw that I was in a dirty old room that I guessed was a basement, filled with tools that mostly consisted of hammers and pliers. Chains and hooks hung around the dimly lit room from the ceiling and I felt my heart hammer in my chest.
"The more you wiggle around, the tighter the knots become, fucking idiot." His voice echoed, sending chills down my spine and through every nerve in my body. "I'm going to die." I thought while looking around nervously.
"Well, little child of mine. I suppose its time to fix you." He laughed while twirling a large black rusted slugger between his fingers. "D-dad, please don't." I whispered with a dry voice. "Shut up." He demanded with a hard swing to my left thigh, making me cry out in agony as the crack of my bone filled the room.
"Don't think your big blue eyes and full pouty red lips means that you can manipulate me just like your mother did." He hissed before swinging at my ribs. I cried out in pain before hearing another crack from my right thigh, causing me to scream again.
I felt my breath come in short, loud gasps before I felt large knuckles repeatedly hit my stomach. "You look just like your whore mother, but I fixed her too." Was the last thing I had heard before an eerie laugh echoed throughout the smelly air followed by a match being struck.
"That smell was gasoline, tell your mother I said hi when you see her." He cackled before dropping the match and leaving me to burn.
The smell of burnt, rotted wood and scorched earth was terrible as the once dim room exploded with color and heat. It had become hard to breathe as the oxygen in my lungs burned with smoke, and I couldn't see from the salty sweat and tears rolling from my eyes.
Black, brown, red and white spots dotted my vision as my lungs screamed for fresh air. I rocked side to side to tip the chair, but to no avail. I was going to die, I was going to burn.
