Out of My Control

Chapter 5

TW!!
Abuse, Self Harm, Eating disorder, Harsh Wording.

Authors note:
Quick message y'all! Whenever a chapter has something that may be triggering, I will try my best to always have a tw at the start of the chapter. So please be on the lookout for those.
Happy reading y'all ♡︎

𝐴𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦'𝑠 𝑃𝑂𝑉

I'm in trouble.

Trouble is an understatement. I was in so much more than 'trouble'. I should've been more careful.

As I step into the room, I see my parents standing in front of me. Using my peripheral vision, I can see that my room is trashed. My clothes were all over the place, some ripped into shreds. My mirror was smashed, fragments of glass scattered across the floor. The books I had rented from my local bookstore were torn, the pages were nothing but bits and pieces now. The only thing that seemed to be intact was my bed, but my covers had been ripped and torn.

My room was once my safe place, now, it's going to be nothing but a bad memory.

This is going to cost a lot of money to replace. Money that I don't have.

"Where the fuck have you been all day? You left your mother and I stranded with no fucking alcohol and this place is a filthy mess! Can you do anything right for God sakes?" I flinched at my father's words. I don't know why I still flinch. I should be used to it by now.

"I- I- I'm sorry father," I stutter.

I shouldn't have stuttered. Stuttering for me shows fear.

As the words came out of my mouth, my father kicked my stomach, causing me to crash onto the floor and fall onto the fragments of glass.

My mother walked towards me and slapped me across my face.

"I bet you were with boys all day, you're a dirty pathetic slut, I don't even know how anyone could be attracted to you, you're a pig, look at you, nothing but fat, you're weak, " she spat in my face.

No matter how many times she says these things, it hurts more and more every time.

Before stepping away, she kicks my stomach, the same place my father kicked me. I held my stomach with my arms as she stepped back and stood next to my father.

I would say that was all, but I know better.

My father picks me up by my neck and pushes me against the wall.

His hand tightens around my neck, making it almost unattainable to escape.

"Listen carefully, one, you will clean up this mess and the rest of the mess in the living room, two, once you are done, you will go out and buy alcohol for us, three, you have an hour," he demands.

He let go of my neck, causing me to drop to my knees.

"Pft, pathetic," I heard my mother say as they walked out the door.

There definitely will be bruises.

I begin to cry. Why does this happen to me? Every single time, it gets taken out of me. Why me?