The Abused Mate (First Version)

Chapter One

(Edited)

 I could see my rundown little house, now. I was thankful but only because my legs were burning with pain. I gradually slowed down as I got closer to the house, my running shoes crunching loudly on the gravel road. I cautiously approached my house, glancing around, worriedly. I was paranoid, and I knew it, but I had every right to be. I was late getting home from school, and I was truly terrified of the punishment I would most definitely receive.

As I swung the large, white front door of my house open, I scanned the living room for Father. The strong scent of cigars that greeted me was usually an indicator he was home, or that he'd at least stopped by, so, I took a little extra time to listen for anything else that might give me some sort of sign if he was here or not. Not seeing or hearing anyone, I quickly stepped in and silently shut the door behind me. I flinched when the door made a click sound, indicating it was completely shut.

I took a silent step into the living room, glancing around quickly. I relaxed when I didn't see anyone. It was only four, but the only light illuminating the living room was streaming in from the large windows to my right, which were only covered by sheer white curtains, giving the area an even more ominous feel. This room always creeped me out when I was home alone. I bit my lip and moved further into the room, fighting my unreasonable fear. The stairs leading to the upstairs and to my room were all the way across the living room. This meant I had to walk through the entire living room and passed the main entrance to the kitchen, which was on the right.

I dearly hoped Father was still at the bar, but as I passed the kitchen on my way to my room, I found out just how wrong I was. "Alexa!" Father slurred in a sickeningly angry voice. My stomach churned at the sound as I bolted across the living room and up the stairs.

Once at the top of my stairs, I took a sharp right and ran straight down the hall to the room at the very end, my room. I ran in, slamming the door shut behind me, and cursed myself as my trembling hands fumbled with the lock, my terrified tears threatening to escape. I wasn't fast enough, and Father roughly threw himself against the door, using so much force that I fell backwards and landed at least a foot away, on my back. I gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of me.

Father stormed in, his black eyes bulging with rage. He stood over me, glaring as if I'd just tried to kill him. As I’d predicted, his brown hair was disheveled and greasy, his entire being radiating distain and disgust for me. I looked away, flinching; he was definitely too close for comfort.

His eyes narrowed, and without notice, his fist collided with the side of my face, causing an involuntarily high-pitched yelp to come out of my mouth as I tried to scramble to my feet. "Stupid bitch!" He screamed in my face, I could smell the scotch on his breath as he leaned closer and continued yelling at me. "You with a guy?" He spit on my face. "A whore, just like your mother!" I flinched back, closing my eyes momentarily. I tried to focus on swallowing all the blood in my mouth, a futile attempt to block out the hurt both his words and punches were bringing me.

My efforts went to waste as my concentration broke due to the continued assault on my body. I felt a horrid pain shoot from my stomach, all the way up my spine, which finally broke the dam that was holding my flood of tears back. My eyes popped open, the tears streamed out, and I covered my stomach with both my arms, trying to protect myself from any more damage. I was still gasping for breath as Father muttered something about me being a "worthless bitch" and then walked out.

I heard the door lock from the outside before he hissed, "I'll let you out tomorrow morning, at eight. No earlier." I painfully pushed myself up and stumbled into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, even though I was pretty sure he wouldn't be back until tomorrow. Better safe than sorry.

I turned to the large mirror, situated above the counter. Then, I carefully pulled my shirt off, wincing in pain at the movement. I examined the now-forming bruise in the center of my stomach. I flinched at the sight of it. I would be sore tomorrow. I took one look at my face and sighed. It was already black beneath my blue-gray eye. It would no doubt be nearly impossible to hide for school.

At least it wasn’t as bad as usual, I thought. It was only a couple hits; usually it was much, much more. I shivered at the thought of his usual beatings. I looked back up at the mirror, scowling as I noticed how the bruise on the side of my face stood out more because of my extremely pale skin.

I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, being careful to avoid the bruise. I grabbed the hand towel hanging to my right and gently pat my face dry. Then, I slipped my shirt back over my head.
Looking in the mirror one last time, I adjusted my long dark hair so that it covered most of my face.

I slowly walked out of the bathroom and towards my window, which was next to the bed. I popped the screen out and quietly climbed out, leaning the screen back up against the window frame. Then, I braced myself, timidly looking over the edge of the roof I was now settled on. It was only about a five foot drop, but with my newly formed bruises, I knew it was going to hurt worse than usual. I squeezed my eyes closed as I pushed myself off the last couple of inches. My feet landed with a hard "thump" on the cool grass. I withheld a groan as pain radiated from my stomach up to my ribs.

Then, I glanced around at the rundown houses all around me. We didn't live in absolute poverty, but we weren't what you would call "middle class" either. Father had lost his job after Mother had died in a "car crash" when I was thirteen.

No, I couldn't think of it like that. It was a car crash nothing else. If I acknowledged what really happened I might slip up and tell someone.

Anyways, after all that, Father used what little money we actually had on scotch and whiskey instead of food and clothes. So, we lived on the outskirts of town. Luckily, the house was already paid for. The only thing I had to worry about was upkeep, which I still couldn’t afford. I shook my head, forcing myself out of that train of thought. I couldn’t be stressing about money now.

But I needed to, I thought as I glanced at our house. The siding was old and falling off the house, in desperate need of a new paint job. There was no grass, just clumps of stray weeds. Even the sidewalk was cracked beyond repair and overgrown with weeds. I sighed.

Then, I took one last look around, just to be sure Father hadn't seen me. After I was sure he hadn't, I took off running down the street.