Chapter Two

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A/N : OKAY SO another warning. This chapter will involve abuse and possibly gore, just things along those lines and quite t r a u m a t i c events. Please read with caution and enjoy :}

(also I don't proof read chapters so sorry if there are any SPaG mistakes)

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Your dad looked down at you in disgust, his sandy, blonde hair was messed up and knotted from all of the fighting and violence. He was sweating and his cheeks had patches of rose. His clothes were messed up and covered in dirt and stains.

You stumbled to your feet, breathing quickly in this intense situation. As your legs dashed towards the front door, but his were faster. The light touch of his fingertips touched your shoulder as he attempted to grab you.

He failed and fell over as you ran round a corner. While you ran, he grabbed your ankle and you tripped, hitting the side of your head on the living room door frame.

'Ouch- FUCK'

You tried to get back onto your feet, ignoring the fact that your head was throbbing, but he was still holding onto your ankle. He had a tight grip and was way stronger than you by a mile.

You struggled against him as he slowly dragged you closer to him. There was glass everywhere from all the times before this. You saw a sudden fist pass your face after feeling it against your cheek.

'That's gonna leave a big bruise'

The punches kept coming. At this rate, your face was covered in blood, whether it was your own or your dead mother's from when he carelessly stabbed her.

Eventually, he stopped assaulting you, his innocent child. Sometimes you wonder how it got to this. Were you deserving of this?

Your vision became blurry from all the tears and quite possibly the many times your father has punched you. He got off of you and headed back to the kitchen, probably to get another drink.

You just laid on the floor for a while, thinking. Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your dad, stumbling back to the area where you were on the floor. He had something in his hand but you couldn't tell what it was.

You lifted your head up, only to see your violent dad ripping out pages of books and scrunching them into paper balls. You finally saw what was in his hands.

Oil. A bottle of oil and matches.

"Dad...what are you doing?" Your voice was shaky but you could still manage to speak. He looked at your direction with a frown just before turning back and pouring oil on the paper. He slowly started pouring it around the floor up until the point where it ran out.

He left and went towards the garage, this can't be good.

He came back not too long after, a big, red, plastic bottle of gasoline in one hand and a bottle of alcohol. You were staring at the ceiling, too hurt to move. The sound of liquid being poured onto the floor caught your attention.

You jolted up and winced as the pain in your arms started to sink in. Your eyes started to widen at the sight of him pouring the flammable liquid over your used to be warm, welcoming home.

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