Forever

Chapter 1

I ran through the door to my house, hoping my dad wouldn't notice me come in, and ran up the stairs to my room. I dropped my school bag inside the door of my room, and slid down the wall to a sitting position. As soon as I did, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I put my head in my lap, rocking in a fetal position.

"Emily get out here! You know you're supposed to tell me when you get home!" he yelled, his voice slurred. Great, he was already drunk. "Where have you been all day?" he barged in my room with a beer bottle in his hand, kicking the door open, and not even bothering to knock.

"I-I was at school, a-and then I went to work. H-here's the money," I said, handing him 100 dollars. He was at the bar all day, which meant I had to work to keep the mess of a house we live in.

He ripped it out of my hands and got close. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he said, "You are useless. You are ugly and useless, and no one will ever want you. You get home late without telling me, then all you have to give me is fucking 100 dollars?!" Then, he slapped me across the face. I shrieked, and stumbled back a bit.

"Quiet!" he threatened, then lowered his voice, "You know I would willingly kill you if anyone found out about how I raise you. I think it's nice, the only problem is, it's illegal," He threw his beer bottle at my face, and it hit the wall above me, shattering, as pieces littered the floor, cutting my face and neck. I felt cool blood  running down my body, and the sting of alcohol from a not-quite-empty beer bottle running into my cuts, recent and scarred.

I knew I shouldn't say anything, but I took that chance, sometimes he likes me admitting I was wrong, but he is completely unpredictable, "I-I'm sorry."

"Shut up" he growled punching my shoulder, then my eye, and lastly my cheek. He kicked my stomach, and picked me up, only to throw me to the ground again, and kick my face, leaving me with a bloody nose. After that, he left, slamming the door on his way out. He was probably going back to the bar.

I went into the single bathroom, when I was sure he couldn't see or hear me, and I looked in the mirror. Blood was running from two cuts on my face, cheek and forehead, and another on the side of my neck. There was a bruise forming on the side of my face, and a black eye was starting to take shape. I looked through my small belongings in the bathroom, and found a razor in between two towels. He couldn't find it, and if he did, I was dead. I dragged it across my wrist to let the pain out.

Once for being born.

Twice for still being alive.

Three times for letting him do this to me.

And four for letting the people at school bully me.

I put the razor down, and stepped into the shower to wash the blood off my face and arms. I gently washed off my face to get rid of the blood and the smell of alcohol. The water stung, but I'd had much worse.

When I got out of the shower, I crept downstairs, almost sure he wasn't here, but I was still wary.

I needed something to eat, I since I hadn't eaten in days. I was thin and my face was sunken in, almost making it look like I was on drugs, but I just never had enough to eat.

I slid behind the small counter in our kitchen and living room area. When I opened the fridge it creaked, and I hoped that if he was home he hadn't heard. I took out some bread and popped it in the toaster, careful not to burn my hands, then I got two eggs out of the fridge and took out a frying pan. Yeah, I know this sounds like breakfast, but it's all we have.

After putting the pan on the stove, I turned it on and watched the flame rise until it was grazing the bottom of the pan. Then, I cracked the egg in the pan, and moved to put the shell in the compost, when all of the sudden, I was knocked into the flame by a heavy force. I looked up into the angry eyes of my father.

"So now we're making ourselves food, are we?" he asked in malicious voice, "I don't believe you earned enough money to waste the precious food we have in this house." He smiled, showing his yellowing teeth.

"Please, dad, uh, I mean, sir, I haven't eaten in two weeks," tears were coming to my eyes, as I shakily spoke those few words.

"Well we can't have you starving to death, can we?" He asked, almost kindly, "No that wouldn't be good. Alright you can eat this."

"Thank you so much," I whimpered, completely surprised he didn't throw it on the floor or eat it himself.

"You didn't let me finish. This is your food for the next month, so I would savor it," He said, putting his hand on mine gently. I was a little confused by this, but then he started digging his nails into me, and moved my hand closer to the flame.

"What are-"

"Shut up," he growled. As he moved my hand closer to the stove, I caught on and started resisting, but he was to strong. He shoved my hand in the fire and poured some of his beer onto it, which made the flame rise more. It seared my skin, and when he finally took it out, it was bubbling and red. My eyes started to water, but I held in the tears.

By now the eggs had burnt and the toast was cold, so I assumed his point was to spoil my meal, as I couldn't make anything else. I took a plate and put the eggs and toast on it, then covered it in cling wrap.

I walked upstairs, and when I got to my room, I took a small piece of the eggs and toast, and nibbled at it slowly so I could savor this small serving I allotted to myself.

• • •

The next day I woke, and my whole body ached, as it always does after bad beatings. Looking at my hand, I noticed it hadn't changed. I put on a hoodie and jeans, even though it was 80 degrees out, to cover up my cuts and bruises.

A few minutes later I was walking in the sweltering heat to school. I had to walk to school, because I didn't have enough money for a car, and my dad was still asleep from a hangover. I lived far from town, so there was no bus to take me, either. Anyway, it's not like I have any friends who will give me a ride.

After walking the 2 miles to school, I stepped in, trying not to make people notice me. I went to my locker, only to see it spray painted in black with the word 'loser'. I looked around to see everyone laughing at me. One girl, Cara, came up to me, and shoved me against the locker. I winced, still sore from last night's beating. She got close to me, so I could see her caked on makeup, and bleach blonde hair with split ends.

"You are so stupid and nasty and such a bitch," she whispered to me.

"Cara, just let it go. She's been bullied enough for one day," I heard a guy's voice say.

"She's an ass, Justin. She's a loser. She deserves this!"

"Why? What did she do to deserve this?" he asked her, in a commanding voice.

"She just does, okay?" She turned around to look him in the eye, even though her short figure barely reached his shoulders. He looked down at her, with caramel brown eyes that could practically see into your soul.

"She just does? How is that a reason for you to be a bitch to her every day? Can you explain that to me? Are you jealous of her? Or do you just like acting like a bitch?"

"Did you just call me a bitch? I'm not the one you should be talking about." I was pretty sure this could turn into World War III, so I took this chance to run. This was it. This was the last I was going take of everyone.

My father, Cara, everyone. Anyone who had hurt me emotionally or physically had led up to this. But this was it. Cara had broken me. I don't know if it was the amount of pain inflicted on me in such a short amount of time, or just the fact that it had gone on way to long. But it didn't matter. I was done with all of it.

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A/N
I worked really hard on this so comment and vote if you like it and want me to keep updating. Thanks!