It had gone dark, by the time my father called for me, slurring his words. "Get down here you disobedient little bitch" I went immediately; I knew making him wait would only make him angry, so I dutifully trudged down the stairs to my impending doom where he was waiting for me in the kitchen. I stopped walking about 6 feet away from him, and avoided eye contact. "Take your shirt off" he said simply, my eyes widened and snapped up to look at him then around the kitchen looking for other people "girl, I swear if you don't take that fucking shirt off I'll do it twice." He glowered at me making me rush to remove my clothing, placing it on the counter; I turned to face him, and saw his face darken in rage. He lunged for me, and I stepped back out of his way, but not in time, since he was able to grab me, and hit me, before pushing me to the floor following it up by stamping on my back. He pulled me back up, and dragged me over to the table, pushing me over to a chair. But as I resisted, he pushed harder, and the side of the laminate of our old table snapped off in my hand. He ripped it out of my grasp, flexing it in his hands as I tried to turn around. He slammed me back down with his foot, knocking the wind out of me. It felt as though I had been hit with a tram as my chest collided with the wood of the chair. I couldn't move to push myself up again. I struggled when I saw him draw back the hand that he had the wood in, and bring it down on my back. The searing pain, caused me to flinch, and squirm away, but my father drove a kick into the leg I was using to get up. I gasped a breath, as he brought it down again. Crying out in pain, he hit me again, until my cries became soft inaudible sobs, and I could feel warm liquid pouring down my back. Then he kept hitting, but this time he was speaking in between the hits, fuelling his anger as the whip cracked down six more times over my back. "stupid fucking girl, thinks she can fucking defy me, gets herself kicked out of fucking school for fucking tattoos, thinks she can get herself taken away. Well I'm going to fucking sell her" he screamed. He finally dropped the stick, and walked away, leaving me on the floor. The nerves in my body started reporting injuries from the punishment the moment I heaved my breath; there was a dull ache from my knees, and my back was screeching in pain, my ribs hurt but weren't broken and so did under the fingernails on my right hand. There was more pain ebbing throughout my body, including, but not limited to my head, but my brain was blocking it out, and I gave up trying to make sense of it as I slid to the floor, still shaking. I pulled myself up the stairs to my room, and fell onto my bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers or sort out my wounds. I laid on my front and fell into a dreamless slumber.
I woke up the next day and the sun was high in the sky, and I could tell it was after midday. There were no nightmares yesterday, evidently my body took pity on me and allowed sleep to consume me, just like every time I take a particularly bad beating, but I had never slept this late, it must have been the worst one yet. I started to move and sit up, but the searing pain in my back made me lay still for a while more. When I finally worked up the courage to go to look at the injuries in the mirror, and sort myself out, I made my way to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me, and rested my head against it. Blood had been pouring down my back at some point, and had seeped into the jeans that I had been wearing; the trail of blood that had been there had dried leaving brownish streaks that ran over my back and around my sides. Pain ebbed over my back from the lacerations every time I moved; I wasn't going to be able to lean on it for a while. I switched the shower on and watched blankly as the water fell from the shower head. I stripped off the pants and bra, and climbed under the water but hadn't accounted for the pain that the hot water would cause me I suppressed the scream that threatened to escape my lungs, but the quiet whimpers managed to slip through my mouth as I stood there. Eventually it became too much, and I had to get out of the shower, having not really washed anything, but successfully rinsed off the blood. Looking back over at the mirror I could see now that welts had formed over my back, and there were open wounds that were probably still weeping. The lacerations ran messily horizontally, for the most part, spread all over my back. I looked away from the red lines and moved stiffly back to my bedroom, not bothering to dry myself, and slipping on some fluffy pants and a baggy t-shirt to go and get some ice. When I made it downstairs, I found the aftermath of yesterday still lay out on the floor in front of me. I bent down, and picked up the piece that had broken off the table. The table wasn't very expensive, not solid wood, it had a laminate over whatever material was inside it, and I had pulled the very edge of it off when I fell it was about a finger wide, and 3 foot long, and spattered in my blood. There were also blood spatters up the chair that it happened on, and on a cabinet across from it. I knew that it wouldn't be cleaned up by my father, so I got a cloth and wiped everything down, pushed the chair back under the table, and threw the piece of wood away. When I finally got some ice I was exhausted. Going back to my room I removed my shirt and laid ice over a towel on my back.
I must have fallen asleep, because my eyes snapped open when I heard my door open. I didn't move my body, but turned my head to find him looking down at me with a grimace. In his hands he held the washing up bowl and the first aid kit. I frowned, and laid my head back down on my pillow, ignoring his presence. I didn't care how bad he would hit me for ignoring him; I just didn't want to speak to him today. He sat on the bed next to me, and placed what was in his hands at his feet. "I heard you" he said fidgeting. "Crying in the shower" 'yeah well, your father whipping you will do that to a girl,' I thought sarcastically, but I just sniffed in response. "I thought you might need some help" he said. Running his fingers lightly over my back, I flinched but otherwise ignored him then he pulled the towel off me, and looked over the damage. Sucking in a breath quietly he bent down and I felt something cold get wiped over me. I tried not to move, as the tears of pain began slipping down my cheeks "this will help with the pain" he stated as the cold thing was removed, and something pleasantly warm was put in its place. I looked over my shoulder to see that he had picked up the washing up bowl, and had his hands in something gloopy and purple. I took a Deep breath and lay still as he laid the purple cloth over the tears in my skin. Over time I could feel the pain start to fade away into a pleasant numbness. I must have fallen asleep again because when I woke up, there was a note telling me that he would be back to change the ointment soon. I sighed and thought about covering the new marks, as I considered new designs to put on my back as I fell back to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Memoirs Of a survivor
Action"You're an animal, you're a dog, you will always be a dog, and there's nothing you can do to change that" "You will do as you're told" "Come here and clean this up" All comments that had been shouted at Scarlett Fletcher. Her school life is bad, a...
