counting the stars and scars

~chapter 6~

Kellin's POV*
I come home to absolute silence, like I do every afternoon. I saw my dad's car in the driveway, so he's probably in his room either sleeping or watching porn like the pervert he is. I go down the hall and drop my stuff in my room, accidently banging the wall on my dad's side. Shit. If he gets woken up by that he'll throw a bitch fit, and those are just plain annoying. I go to the kitchen and begin cleaning up the beer bottles and dirty dishes. I get a little angry whenever I clean up my dad's messes; he should be the adult here not me, I'm just 17.
After I'm done cleaning everything up, all I have left to do is put the dishes away. I stack all the glass plates in my arms, towering up to my face. I know it's a bad idea but I just want to get this done. As I'm crossing the floor, I suddenly feel my feet go flying out beneath me and all I hear is a loud crash and all I feel is a deep pain in my head. As I come back to reality I see my dad standing above me, staring at me with his deep, evil eyes. "Kellin," he asks me slowly, as if he's trying to keep his cool "What happened here?"
"I was putting the dishes away and then I just felt like I was flying or something, and all I know is my head hurts." I look in front of me, and there are the remnants of the beautiful glass plates spread out through the entire kitchen floor. My hands are slightly cut up, but not bad. My head's the only thing that hurts.
"You fucking worthless piece of shit!" My dad yells loudly, making my head hurt even worse "Stand up and clean this mess up right now!" I do as told and he stalks back to his room, telling me to come into his room when I'm done.
I take my time, dreading what might happen when I go into his dreaded cave. "Kellin get your pathetic ass in here!" I hear my dad scream from his room, and my heart immediately jumps, along with the rest of me.
I quietly go into my room and put my cell phone, my mp3 player, and my headphones. If this is anything like the last time I fucked up, then I'll be alone for awhile. I creep into my dad's bedroom slowly, not wanting to scare him. He's sitting in his desk chair on the opposite wall, staring at me with his arms folded across his chest. "You wanted to talk to me?" I ask quietly but firmly, not wanting to give him any reason to torment me.
He does it anyway. "What kind of a question is that? You broke all the fucking plates we had! Thanks to your dumb ass I now have to go waste my money on stuff we already had! Do you know how stressful it is to deal with you? You're a piece of shit Kellin. I wish you had never been born!" I flinched at the insults. Sure, I heard them all the time, and I was used to them, but that didn't make it hurt any less. I just stood there and took it, like I do every time.
"...You and your mother too. Your mother is a worthless cunt and she fucking sucked at sex for a hooker."
Ok, that just crossed the line. Talking about me is one thing but my mother?! No, I won't stand for it.
"You know what? You're a fucking fat ass drunk mother fucker who doesn't do anything all day but sleep and jack off to children like the pedophile you are!"
The next thing I know is I'm on the ground and there is a sharp pain in my jaw. "You think I'm a pedophile huh?" My dad screams at me, his voice carving a hole into my head. I am pinned down by my dad and his weight is making it hard to breathe. He lets go of my left arm, only to bring it down again on my cheek. This isn't the first time he's hit me, but it's the worst by far. He gets up and starts kicking me in the stomach. He just kicks harder when I cry out in pain. I guess his leg gets tired because he decides to flip me over and hold me down by sitting on my lower back. I can't breathe and I groan out in pain, but he doesn't let up. Instead he flattens his body out on top of me, practically crushing me; his weight is more than twice my own 120 pounds. "So you think I'm a pedophile, do you?" He whispers in my ear, his voice now calm with a hint of something else in it. "Well, let's see what you think of this."
Unexpectedly he trails his hands down my back, making me shiver with disgust. He stands up, much to my relief, but I hear him taking his belt off. "This is what you deserve you little fuck up." I hear his pants fall down and he's on top of me again. God help me. I know what he's going to do, and I'm terrified out of my mind. "No! Stop, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I scream, trying in vain to wiggle myself out of his entrapment. "God, no please!" I faintly see him take off his underwear and then I feel my own pants and underwear coming off. "Please stop it! Stop! STOP!" I scream as loud as I can, hoping that anyone would come now and stop this.
"Shut the fuck up you little slut. You like it, you faggot. Shut up or I'll tell all your little friends that you fucked a 50 year old."
After that, little to my understanding, I shut up. I didn't stop crying though. I wasn't sobbing, but the pain in my heart was ripping me in half. I laid there and took it, I took the pain, the discomfort, the disgust. After a few minutes, he was done, and he stood back up, redoing his belt. "See what happens when you insult me?" He picks me up off the ground by the back of the neck and carries me, still half naked, to my bedroom, where he throws me on the floor, closes the door, and locks it from the outside.
**Three Hours Later**
Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I sit on my bed and think about what just happened, what he did to me. He... He violated me in the worst way possible. My innocence was gone, replaced by nothing but pain and suffering. I need someone. Vic. I text him, telling him in my calmest words to come over. I word it like a question but I really fucking need him here. I don't want to be alone in this house with him. Two hours later, he still hasn't responded, and over a two hour interval I text him and still no answer. I finally give up, lay in my bed, and somehow, go to sleep.