The Harsh Truth

The only things that come through those doors are dangerous, drunken, trouble making men. I am only an item, Something to pass the time. Something to take frustration and anger out on. To them I have no feelings, I cant be hurt. Well that’s all wrong. The outside door opened and light poured in through the open door. I hid in a corner, hoping he wouldn’t see me. To late. He started screaming at me, His hand stroked me. The other had a bottle in it. He slammed the end down on the edge of the worktop. He stumbled towards me, Sharp, jagged glass pointing at me. I backed off into a corner. Praying he stops. The glass dug into my skin as he slammed it against my chest. Blood oozed out of the cut as I lay there, He left. Obviously done for now. I lay there letting the pain consume me. I heard him go into the bedroom and I think he has passed out. I cant get enough strength to stand. I got onto all fours and started to crawl. I managed to get to the door and I used the small table to pull myself up with. I opened the door and ran out. The door was left open. I don’t have time to shut it. I ran down the steps and just ran. I need to get far away from here. I got strange looks of the few I passed. What a state I must look. Ripped clothes with blood stains on them. I kept on running until I finally collapsed. I looked around. I have no idea where I am. I lay there trying to re-build my strength. Soon enough my eyelids started to get heavy and I started to fall asleep for shot periods of time until I was sound asleep.