Instead, I took my time going down the stairs, holding tightly onto the railing. My legs gave out as I stepped onto the landing, collapsing right there on the spot. After a few moments of respite, I forced myself to stand and start the brutal task of cleaning up after the man I wanted to kill with my bare hands.
The living room was in disarray. The furniture was tipped over; beer bottles were scattered about, a few even broken.
How had I slept through all of this?
The kitchen was slightly better, but not by much.
Slowly, as my body refused to move much faster than a snail, I picked up every piece of trash. I righted the furniture. I scrubbed every surface. I even scrubbed the floor. Who cared if I cut my bare foot on a piece of glass? Who cared that my blood mixed with the tears that just wouldn’t stop? But most of all, who cared that I wished death could find me?
Wouldn’t that be a sight? For him to come home, finding my body in a bloody heap on the floor, surrounded by his mess.
Would he call my death in, saying I killed myself? Or would he gladly dig a hole and bury me in the woods somewhere? A laugh bubbled up out of my chest. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I had no clue why I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath; I was going insane. That was all there was to it.
Whatever he did to me last night really fucking messed up my head. Before I knew it, my uncontrollable laughing turned into sobs—body-wracking sobs. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded so fast in my chest it felt like it was going to explode. My stomach tightened like an invisible force was squeezing it before pulling it out of my body. I felt it coming, but there was no time to do anything about it as I collapsed in the kitchen, covered in sweat, tears and my own vomit.
Maybe now my father would kill me and get it over with.
I woke up sometime later, shivering as my bodily fluids soaked me from head to toe. Some was dried to my skin, making it itch. My head was resting against the cupboard at an odd angle. I had no idea how much time had passed; all I knew was that I was officially at rock bottom.
The idea of just taking my life was right there. I could grab onto it with both hands. The knife was on the counter. It wouldn’t take much to slice open my wrists and let myself bleed out.
Pulling myself up, I groaned as anguish almost pulled me back down. My foot throbbed. My head swam. The knife was in my hand, the blade capturing the sun that came in through the window. Putting the blade to my wrist, the tip broke the skin and blood slowly seeped out. The pain was nothing compared to what I’d already suffered. There was only a small release as a few drops of blood began to seep out of the cut as I pressed the knife down harder, bit by bit.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor. My mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. “You think I’m going to let you end your pathetic life? Get a fucking clue, girl. You are worth something, and that something won’t hit my bank account until you turn eighteen. Until then, your heart has to keep beating.” He eyed me. “You are disgusting. I told you to have this place cleaned up, and you made it worse! The only thing you’re good for is keeping my bed warm on days like last night. And I can promise you that no one will ever touch what I have. Every part of you is mine, even if I do wish you were dead.”
I remained quiet, not having anything to say as the words went in one ear and rattled my brain. My legs shook, but not from fear. They shook from the despair that seeped from my pores.
“Get this mess cleaned up. Getyourselfcleaned up, you good for nothing piece of shit.” At least I was gross enough that he didn’t want to touch me in that moment.
Iscrubbed my body twice, making sure that the vomit was completely washed away. My skin was red and raw by the time I shut the lukewarm water off. I wrapped a towel around my body before wiping the condensation off the mirror. I looked like shit. There was no other way to describe it. My eyes were red, swollen and lifeless. My cheeks had bruises, and a dark handprint surrounded my neck.
I was worthless, just like he had told me over and over again. All he wanted was the money that, for whatever reason, had been left to me. I’d gladly give it all to him, too, just so I could die.
Three more months to go.
As quickly as my body let me, I dressed and brushed out my hair, putting it into a braid. Making sure nothing was out of order, I left the bathroom and went to sit on my bed. I could hear him downstairs, most likely making a mess of things again while he spoke to someone on the phone.
It was early afternoon, so why was he even home? He worked at a used car lot across town. He made decent money…enough to keep on top of bills. Normally, he’d work until five—later in the summer, as more people were out buying new vehicles.
Less than five minutes later, he came climbing up the steps. His boots slapped against the floor. He wanted me to hear him coming. He wanted me to fear him. I did. I feared him with every breath I took.
My hands, which I had between my knees, trembled. I willed my mind to block out whatever he threw my way. I begged my body to let the pain take me away into the blissful blackness that always threatened to consume me. I even sent up one more wordless prayer to let this all end.
I knew the exact moment he stopped in the doorway. I didn’t look at him. His arrogance and anger flowed off of him in waves.
“What shall we do about that little stunt downstairs? Hmmm.” He walked into my room, one slow step at a time. My spine straightened as he came closer. “You have been taught to never question me, to never ignore my commands. Yet, you tried to take control of your own life. So what shall we do,Scarlett?” My name was a hiss as it left his mouth. “Apparently, you didn’t learn last night. It didn’t teach you that fighting me never ends well for you,” he went on, taking the one last step to where he stood right in front of me. The tips of his shoes were dirty. I blinked, bracing for whatever he had in mind.
“You just make it so much fun to punish you,” he said. “You’re weak. Breakable. Worthless. And Ihateit when you don’t look at me when I’m talking to you.” Before I could look up, he wrapped a hand in my hair, forcing my head up too far.
“Much better,” he grinned. “I really have had it with this attitude. Lisa told you lies. She told you there was a way out from me. I bet she even promised to help you. Now that she’s gone, there’s no one here to save you.” He held me there, looking for something that he didn’t find. I saw when he figured out that I was broken beyond repair. Whatever hope Lisa had installed in me was washed away. It would never come back.
“You’re powerless. Powerless to whatever I wish to do with you. I just don’t know what to do about it.” He let the words sink in, pulling my head further and further back. I had no option but to let my body follow. I braced my arms behind me, waiting for the next blow. Before I could blink, his other fist connected with my stomach. My breath caught in my chest as I slumped forward slightly, a cry escaping my parted mouth. He pulled me back roughly again, my scalp crying in protest as he forced me to lie down straight. He pushed my legs apart as black spots swam before my eyes. I let them slip closed, not fighting his power.
“This isn’t fun when you don’t fight back,” he whispered right beside my ear. “That’s what makes me hard for you. I love a good fight. But this,” he grabbed my groin roughly and I gasped in hatred, “is mine, no matter what. But I guess if you can’t get me hard this way, I’ll find a different way.”
He backed away before commanding me to my knees before him. It took me a moment to comprehend to move, but it wasn’t fast enough to his liking. He manhandled me, forcing me to my knees on the floor, slapping my cheeks for good measure.
“Pull it out,” he hissed, holding my head to keep me in place. With shaking hands, I unzipped his pants. His penis was soft.
