Care For Me Not, I'll Hurt You Too Much

The weekend passed by so slowly you believed that time itself had stopped just to give you the pleasure of suffering. You couldn’t eat. Not that there was much to eat anyway. You didn’t have a job or any means of receiving money, so as usual, you stole it from your father’s cash-stash. You found it one day during a break from school. During the regular school week, you don’t have to worry about getting food or not, you just have to remember to eat lunch then you’ll be fine for the rest of the day. When you get home, you make whatever you can find in the cabinets, which usually isn’t much. After you found his secret cash hoard, you were able to dip small amounts of money out in order to buy the needed groceries. He didn’t notice though, he just put his entire pay check into that every month, and then pulled out money in order to buy beer. He never knew how much he took out or how often, so you used this little fact to your advantage.

The fact that there was no food in the house for you to eat didn’t bother you that much though. You wouldn’t have been able to keep it down long anyway. The torment you had been putting yourself through was bad enough. You barely slept so by the end of the weekend you were hungry and tired. You were mainly scared though. You were scared that one time you might pass in front of a window and suddenly Gerard is at your door step, trying to peer even further into you life than he already has. He’d ask you all the questions about yourself, then after finding out the answers, he’d tell it to the world. Then you’d have absolutely nothing. You’d be laughed at and stared at so much that after three days, you’d find yourself falling headfirst into the river.

This was one of the reasons why you hadn’t opened your window in the past two days. Your room was now extremely stuffy because of the lack of air circulation. You were scared that as soon as you did, there he would be, staring…waiting for you to reveal more of yourself to him. So you kept the window shut. You didn’t want anyone at all seeing you. You feared that with one look they’d see right through you. They’d see all of your scars and bruises. They’d be able to just take one look at you and see right into your past. They’d know all of your secrets. They would be able to see and hear your innermost thoughts and feelings. They would eventually know you more than you knew yourself. You wouldn’t even have to leave your room in order for them to know just what was going on with you. This concept was exposing. The invasion was frightening beyond belief.

You became so frightened of the exposure to the world, that you became a shut-in—not that you weren’t one before, but more so than usual. You eventually avoided all the windows, even your own, which was completely covered so that no human without supernatural powers would be able to see through it. You didn’t leave your room, and you often found yourself huddled in the corner. By the time Sunday night came in, you had dark circles under your eyes and your mind seemed to have left your body in a way that you weren’t accustomed to. Your limbs felt heavy and your throat was extremely dry from the fact that you hadn’t eaten or drank anything in over 24 hours.

You have school tomorrow idiot. You tell yourself, just as your ready to give up and stay holed up in your room for the next week.

You smell like shit, take a shower.

Your inner monologue convinces you to pull yourself out of bed. You grab everything you needed for a shower, and just as your about to make an exit to the bathroom, a noise reaches your ear. With your door open, you’re able to hear the sounds coming from the rest of the house more clearly. The sound of the front door clicking shut then locking reaches your ears and you stiffen.

It’s nothing to worry about, it’s just your father. You reassure yourself, until another thought hits, one that should have been so obvious you nearly hit yourself in the head out of sheer stupidity. Nothing to worry about? That’s your father, but he’s not exactly the one person you would want to run into in the hallways!

Shuffling feet slide across the carpet downstairs, probably making their way towards the staircase. What’s he doing? His bedroom is downstairs. Why would he come up here?

Panic floods through you, but you can’t seem to move, even just to go back into your room.

“Fucker, took my life away…” Mumbling reaches your ears. You are now completely sure that he’s at the foot of the staircase, and according to the slur accompanying his voice, he’s drunk.

Just go to your room. You beg him. Don’t come up.

You still don’t move. Fear runs through you and you believe that even the slightest movement, he’s going to hear you and come rushing up the stairs to put you into a coma. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to drag you that far back up to your room. Hell you were still right in front of your door. The items you were carrying in your hand begin to slip slightly from your tight grip and sweaty hands. You bite your lib and pray that he doesn’t come up any further.

Contemplating an escape, you banish all thoughts of one. Your bedroom door was close and it could lock, but it would sometimes squeak terribly, you didn’t want him to hear that. You could go into the bathroom as fast as possible, that room had a lock too. No, he’d hear that door too. It was loud and needed to be oiled at the hinges. There was one other room that you could possibly go to, but you vowed to never go into his room again. You took away all thoughts of moving an inch entirely. You didn’t want him to hear.

Suddenly, a rush of wind blows through the open window in the bathroom. You hadn’t recalled opening it, but you assumed that’s where it came from. The air was icy cold and made the hairs on your arms stand on end. A shiver worked its way up your spine as if a million little spiders slowly started crawling their way up your shirt. It crept up your back and all the way up your neck. You could feel the Goosebumps that appeared there too. You eyes slowly slid shut at the feeling of cold coursing through your veins. Your arms go numb and you drop the items that you held in your hand. Even though they landed on the carpeting below your feet, they seemed to echo their soft thud throughout the house.

A small grunt reaches your ears as shuffling footsteps start clambering their way up the stairs. By the slight squeak reaching your ears, he needed the help of the banister along the way. Your feet become frozen and your eyes remain shut. You can visualize him in your head. Slowly he climbs his way up the stairs, his long overcoat swaying around him like the menacing cloak of a vampire, coming to collect blood…and that’s exactly what he’s going to get. Blood.

You can’t do anything though. You feel a haze surrounding your senses and motor functions. It feels slightly as if you’re floating two inches above the carpet beneath your feet. Yes, fly away finally. Go away now, please.

With a crashing thud, your feet reach the carpet. He grabbed your shoulders and threw you into the nearby wall. Your shoulder sears with a burning like fire as it collides with the plaster. You slowly slide down the wall, eyes shut, limbs numb, breathing labored. You wait there, silently. You knew that if you stayed still like so many times before, he’d leave.

He doesn’t do that this time though. Instead he reaches down and pulls you to your feet, leaning you against the wall for your own support. You can feel his clenched hands leave their bruises on your tender flash. He then begins to lay his fists ferociously into your sides without heed or care. After every hit, you can actually feel each individual rib snap slowly and crackle as if your bones were made of Styrofoam and just stucco-ed over.

Okay, time to leave. Just let it happen. Give him what he wants…a punching bag.

Instead of making your mind leave your body, like you were used to. Your thoughts stayed there. Your mind didn’t wander. It felt as if you were on the edge of a dream, your mind felt as if it were dangling nimbly by a chain, barely attached to your body. You knew and felt everything that was going on as shooting pains hitched your breath in your throat. Your head spun from the immense pain and confusion. Your heart raced with the fear and adrenalin that was pumping through your veins. He kept on hitting you and hitting you, and you couldn’t do anything about it. Why won’t this stop?

It became too much for you as you decided on something you never thought you would ever consider. You have to fight back!

You tried to move your arm, but couldn’t. A force stronger than you was pinning them to their current resting spot—hanging loosely at your sides. You tried with all your might, but couldn’t even make them twitch. You wanted so badly just to move them. It felt as though they were made of led and weighed a ton. What’s wrong with me?

What’sright with you? What made younot deserve this? A voice other than your own screams it right into your ear. It rings through your head and bounces off the walls of the house. You’re sure he can hear it too as he smirks while pummeling your rib cage and making it collapse around your already damaged heart.

“You took them away. You made them leave! You practically killed them yourself you selfish brat!” his voice is harsh, but not like the one he uses today. It sounded as if it was a memory, misty almost. It sounded like his voice had before he began to drink. The slur was gone and the tone was fierce, yet collected. It wasn’t husky or gruff from thousands of cigarettes and millions of shots of alcohol. It changed. It was the voice that used to say sweet words in your ear before tucking you in at the age of four.

Tears stream down your face as he continues. “This is what you deserve! You ruined my life! They were the only things I ever loved and you had to kill them! You shouldn’t have been the one to live!”

You see his actions, as if in slow motion, you watch what he does next. All the fight you believed you had was now dormant once again. Your mind invaded your body as every single fiber of your being screamed out in sheer pain. His hands grasp your bruised arms and he swings you around so you’re no longer leaning against the wall. You feel the rush in the pit of your stomach and the motion almost makes you puke. Your hair whips around your face, obscuring your eyes. After all this time, they were still closed. You were scared of what you might see if you opened them. His fingers grip around your collar and you see his other fist collide with your nose. Blood splatters across his shirt and down your chin. You know it’s broken.

He hits you again, but this time…you’re falling. You’re flying backwards down the stairs, and as you fall, you pray that you break your neck this time. With one last fleeting effort that seems to take all your strength, you pry open your eyes.