Lost and Found || Punk H.S

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

*trigger warning*

Andrea's P.O.V

*Flashback*

"Dad," I whisper to get my dad's attention. I should probably feel bad for not remembering him before the accident, anyone else would. But you don't know my dad and I doubt that I do either.

He didn't respond, only glaring at me from his seat on the couch. Mom is passed out upstairs in her bedroom, she got a pretty bad beating today. I think I heard something about her cheating on my dad. I don't blame her, but don't let him know that. My heart races as I slowly take a few steps closer. My pajama pants slide along the floor beneath me, and the sweater adorning my body is starting to get hot.

"My uh my friend s-said that um today is m-my birthd-day," my words are quite as always but they seem to of infuriated dad.

"What did you want for your birthday you little shit," his voice was practically a low growl. I coward backwards, ready to make a run for my bedroom at any moment. Before I could make the first step his fist swung towards my face. A whimper of weakness escapes my mouth, followed by my harsh cries as the beating continues. His sharp, rough hits a huge contrast to the loving hands of a man that every girl dreams of. But I'll never have that, I lost Sammy just two months ago and now I know that I will be alone forever like dad always says.

I don't pass out this time, I take every blow fully awake in my senses and by the time he is finished my throat hurts as well from my cries. Just once it'd be nice if the neighbors actually cared.

I crawl slowly up to my bedroom once he left. Every inch of my body aches as I drag myself up the steps. I know what to do at these times. Once I'm in my room I rip off my stupid blue sweater and dumb black pajama pants. They can't protect me.

My beautiful metal is found in my drawers and I know that I have fully lost myself this time. No one can tell me any different. I am pathetic, worthless, a waste of oxygen, and nobody will ever love me. I open my bedroom windows to let the breeze into my hot room and go to my closet quickly before I begin. I slip on my big white shirt that I have for only these times. I deserve to see the bruises forming on my skin, I deserve the bruises. I'm so screwed up and I'm tired of being empty.

If I was just sad I would be able to handle it. But I've been sad for too long, and it just went away. Everything went away. I felt no love, no sorrow, no joy. I only felt the quick pains of the beatings and the sharp licks of my silver tongues on my pale skin.

I sit on my cold floor, wishing any feeling could come back. Just a bit of sadness or depression. Anything would be better than the nothing inside of me. The wind whips through my bedroom, flowing through my beautiful white curtains. I look at the blood stains on my shirt, the bruises forming quickly on my body, and my blades.

My blades are there for me when no one else is. They help me feel again. I trace the silver beauties down my arms and thighs, creating perfectly straight red lines. It pisses me off when people in this world call self harm beautiful or 'tragically romantic'. It's sick. These scars don't make me any less ugly than I already am, and even though it could be called tragic but never romantic. As the blood races down my arms and legs and can't help but rock back and forth, dreaming about a time where someone would love me enough to help me stop the madness in my mind.

I stand up since some of the cuts won't stop bleeding after about twenty minutes. Not that I care that much, but I'd get in trouble and be beaten even more if they somehow found out. I'd be screwed if I seriously needed stitches.

I run the water over the cuts on my arm, not wincing once. I've done this too often. As the water slows the blood I stare at my emotionless face in the mirror. Flat brown hair, pale skin, stupid baby cheeks that are too rosy for the pale skin surrounding it, dull, emotionless brown eyes closed in by ruined mascara from pained tears. Bruises that feel permanent grace my small face, seeming to take up almost every inch. I don't know how long I can do this. It's not enough, I need more.