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(This chapter contains an episode of self-harm, recommended for mature audiences)

Chapter 2 - Home

For most people home was where they felt safe, they had their parents and siblings by their side. Perfect families. What people thought I had. But they we're so wrong, because home is instead a place I fear. My mother and sister are gone. Everything turned so bad in a matter of months.



After that class was done I wasn't finished with Kingston. We had most of our classes together, plus lunch and free period. Whenever I looked at him he was staring back.

I stand up from my last class, my legs aching from today's earlier encounter with my dad. I walk down the hall, suddenly forgetting about everything in my life except the pain that is soon to come my way. Even if I don't break the rules, there's a daily beating, right?

If I ever broke the rules he made it clear he would beat my within an inch of my life. If I broke a more serious rule he would take me hostage, kidnap me and throw me in a desert or bring me to a slow, agonizing and painful death.

I remind myself of the rules as I put my books in my locker and grab my skateboard.

"Rules: punishable by a beating:
- Hair longer than collarbones
- Not cooking dinner
- Staying out after school
- Wearing any color other than black
- Showing my shoulders
- Showing any of my body's bruises or scars
- Lying
- Friends

Rule: punishable by death:
- telling anybody"

The memory of the reason of all these rules, all of my beatings, floods my thoughts, my head resting in my hands as I lean against my locker.

It's not my sisters fault, it wasn't her. I deserve this. I deserve it.

Suddenly I close my locker slowly, almost numb again from the memory being brought back to my mind. All of the images of that day floating in my brain. The blood, the sound, the screaming.

I speed walk out, nobody noticing me. They never do. I immediately drop my skateboard on the floor and start riding, kicking the floor, not knowing what or how to feel. The pain that would normally flare up in my body is gone.

I don't need those memories back again. I never needed that to happen in the first place. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me.

I skate down the sidewalk, the air brushing past my face. My hair drifts behind me, not very far since it only reached my shoulders. The feeling isn't new, but it was nice. It always calmed me the best it can.

Nothing really calms me though. The only thing that will calm me at this point is knowing that I could feel something. Maybe, anything. Or somebody loving me, but that's an unimaginable dream.

I stop the skateboard abruptly as I get outside of my house, the scared feeling that would always return when I get there is gone. I walk up to the front door and lean my skateboard against the wall of my front porch, opening the door slowly.

Inside is an empty house with old furniture from when my mom was here, when we were a happy family. "Summer," I hear my dads voice speak out from inside the dark house, in a taunting tone that he uses. Knowing I'm defenseless. This time I'm not scared though.

This numbness overwhelms me so often that I'm almost used to it. I walk into the house, no fear. At this point I've realized that everybody hates me, I have no point of living. Everybody around me leaves. The off-white door closes softly behind me. The air around me is heavy as if preparing me for what's to come. The only thing lighting up the house is a singular candle, casting a yellow tint on the walls the fires sheen hits.

"Oh Summer," my dad sighs as he stands up from the rocking chair in the living room. The same one that my mom used to cradle me and Brooke in. "You didn't say goodbye this morning, I didn't finish!" My dad pouts like a three year old as I stand in the hall, emotionless as I watch him.

I scoff.

My dad abruptly turns his whole body in my direction, staring at me with a look of anger in his eyes. I never get angry; I get hurt, sad, but never angry. Anger hurts people, in more ways than one.

He slowly walks towards me, keeping the same look of—now that I see it better in this dark house—confused anger, almost in the form of a scowl on his face.

"What was that?!" My dad bursts as he stands above me, the light shining on the side of his rough, scratchy looking face. That's my dad. But my face stays emotionless, like I said I'm almost used to this now. Not feeling anything but feeling everything at the same time.

I shrug, my lips in a tight line, in turn making him more angry. He growls, his eyebrows furrowing completely and his eyes full of hate. The thing I would expect from him everyday, while most people would think that I was watching basketball with my dad while my mom and sister cook dinner. Like it used to be.

But that was freshmen year, now it's senior year. So, he steps closer to me if possible, my face staying blank. "You didn't give me a fork this morning, you're supposed to bring me a fork when you make me a breakfast every morning." He says and I nod, "Sorry, sir." I say monotone.

I breathe in heavily as he backs up a step and brings his fist up. I prepare for the impact, my eyes closing as I feel his hand come towards me. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth like this morning as I shift to the side from the momentum.

The second punch comes from the other side, pushing me that way as punches come to my stomach. My bruises ribs ache as he continues to punch, giving me a total of five for the day. Doesn't seem much but when it's repetitive everyday it adds up.

My dad stares, hate-filled eyes hover over my bruised body and he chuckles a little bit before pushing me into the stairs we were in front of. He smirks evilly and shoos me away with his hands, laughing at his own inconsideration.

I slowly crawl up the steps to my room, my dad watching me, growling and huffing like an animal. The stairs stop squeaking when I make it to the landing, all sound gone and now filled with silence. I move down the corridor to my empty room, the blood-stained floorboards creaking once again.

I get to my room, my body hurting making that the only feeling I feel. It's almost nice though, reminding myself I can feel something. That I'm not completely numb.

Maybe it's worth it, the pain. I make it to my bathroom, it's empty besides a bottle of full-coverage concealer, couple types of bandaids, and an old razor blade. The one I've used before to cause so many scars on my wrists.

I look at it, picking it up in between my fingers. I grab it and prick my finger, a dot of blood peaking through my skin. The familiar feeling I had just a few seconds ago with my dad, reminding me I could feel something.

You don't deserve to feel anything
You don't deserve anything
You're just ugly
you should be dead anyway

Finally I grab my wrist, making small incisions. The blood spills out onto the white counter, this is the only way I can feel. Through pain.

Maybe one day that fog constricting me from my emotions will go away. But right now, I fall to the bathroom floor. Blood seeps into the cracks between tiles as the source bleeds. Pain shoots through my entire body, only focusing on that. But it's almost soothing.

I rest my head on the ground, staring blankly at the plain white wall next to me as I rest my eyes. That's it...

just resting my eyes.

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