I walk for a solid 15 minutes with the limo on steroids creeping behind me. The rumble of the vehicle's engine completely destroys my sense of peace and makes me wish for that coffee still sitting on the stove.
-------Abuse Warning-------
Ouch!
A searing pain makes me stop dead in my tracks and look down. I somehow managed to kick up a pebble, hitting the uncovered inch of flesh on my upper thigh. My luck in life is truly nonexistent. For most people, this incident would hardly be noticed, brushes off as odd. Too bad so sad for me life hasn't allowed me the mercy of being anything like most people.
The deep scars on my legs start to burn and it takes all my willpower not to drop to my knees in agony. I know—deep down—I know the pain isn't real. Desperately, I try not to get sucked into the nightmares the scars seem to carry. It doesn't work. I'm sucked back in time to a very bad memory...
"Please stop!" I beg.
"Shut up, stupid bitch!" He spits out as he continues to punch and hit me while I'm stuck huddled in the fetal position on the ground. The array of hits, kicks, and spit rains down on me like a bad storm until all I can focus on is the sound of my hoarse cries of forgiveness.
I never knew why I was apologizing.
The assault stops, and I take a small peek at the boot covered feet. A startled cry of pain leaves my bloodied lips as he lifts me off the ground by my matted, blood-covered hair. Silent tears stream down my bruised face. I know crying out will do nothing but make him laugh and hoot with glee at this point. So I don't. I pinch my trembling lips together in effort to keep sobs to myself.
He chucks me onto the table, and proceeds to go through the ritual of tying my hands and feet down. It gets harder and harder to hold back, but my small frames shivers so hard the chains rattle.
The clunk of his dirty boots echo on the cement as he walks over to the fireplace and grabs a familiar rusted out rod. I stare at it—hypnotized—knowing exactly what's coming. Shoving the rod unceremoniously into the blazing fire, it begins to glow a brilliant red. It's too beautiful to cause such agony.
"How about we add to that collection of yours huh, slut?" He sneers. Stalking over to me, he slowly presses the tip of the rod onto my naked left thigh. My scream is long and drawn out at he lets it sizzle through my leggings and onto my now cooked thigh.
The next hour is filled with agony as he decorates my thighs with bleeding scorched wounds. He begins making his way towards my upper thighs. That finally makes me break. "Please!" I sob "I'm sorry! Please Daddy! I'm Sorry!" My eleven-year-old self pleads.
"Haven't you learned your lesson whore? Wearing shorts around the house—TEMPTING ME TO SIN? YOU WILL BURN FOR YOUR OWN SINS!" He Screeches. The burning continues. The occasional tracing of words breaks through the mindless doodling he does all over my body. My shirt is in shreds as he continues the process: Scraping, stabbing and reheating.
After what feels like hours, I either pass out, go numb, or he runs out of doodle room. I expect him to walk away somewhere and get drunk like he always does, leaving me to clean up my own mess.
He doesn't. Instead, he unhooks the chains and drags me off the table until I fall face first on the hard floor. I groan. I never saw it coming until it was too late. He stabs the rod in the back of my thigh, and I open my mouth to scream, yell, shout—something, but nothing comes out but a puff of air. The rod is slowly pulled out of my thigh, deliberately jerked every which way before exiting my body.
"Clean up your fucking mess." He hisses before stomping up the stairs. I don't--can't move.
Before closing the door to my own personal hell, he pauses "Oh," he says turning around with a sick grin, "I think your birthday is next week. Your mother and I want you to get a job to help pay for our drinks. I also want to invest in more...toys for you. I know you're getting just as bored with that damn rod as I am." With that statement, he laughs and slams the door.
I was always more shocked that he remembered my birthday...
-------End-------
I'm only dragged out of my flashback when my body jumps hearing a door slam shut.
I take a deep breath, thinking and already knowing the beating that's about to take place. My body instinctively caves in on itself.
North's POV
"I'm telling you," I state with as much conviction as possible for a guy like me, "SOMETHING ISN'T FUCKING RIGHT!" I fume at my brothers.
I kept my mouth shut through the whole conversation my brothers had with the little pixie. If you could even call Gabe insulting her and her not saying a damn thing a conversation, I snort. I chose to not contract foot-in-mouth-syndrome from Gabe and dedicated my time to watching her body language instead. After all, actions speak way fucking louder than words ever could.
"We know North, calm down. She was probably just a little nervous talking to strangers." Kota reasonably states. Always reasonably. Reasonable Kota always pisses me off. I can't help but think; Mr. B would be so proud. I know he's just trying to calm me down, but I can see through his half-assed words of wisdom. He thinks something is up too but doesn't want our brothers to freak out before he knows for sure.
It really pisses me off-though that's not hard to do. I wasn't awake in the beginning of Gabes conversation with the girl as I had to stay up late for a mission and was catching up on some shut eye before attending this useless school, but I caught the end right before the beautiful girl turned away. The look she has in those alluring, empty, emerald eyes make my heart squeeze. She has a past and it's certainly not sunshine and rainbows. Whoever could hurt such a small, innocent looking girl is a heartless fuck who doesn't deserve the fucking air it takes to live.
I drag my attention away from Kota and put my efforts into watching the girl still walking ahead of us in this freezing cold ass weather. The urge to drag her stubborn ass in here and wrap her up in my own body heat beats at my skull until I grind my teeth. Just because she wears the Moons Academy uniform doesn't mean she's a 'rich bitch' as Gabe likes to call them. She's different, I can feel it. My gut has never let me down and I'll continue to trust it.
Even if my brothers won't.
I've only just met the poor girl and she hasn't said a word, even when my brothers were being rude to her. She's put up with much worse, I can tell. So why the hell does she have my protective instincts on overdrive?
I'm about to go out there and drag her in this stupidly large limo myself like a caveman when I see her wince.
"The hell..." My death stare and the use of colorful vocabulary gets all my brothers to look up and dart their heads towards the girl. My eyes narrow as I lean on the edge of my seat. I watch her look down and see her visibly convulse. Confused and incredibly worried, I look closer at the dreadful skirt that's being whipped around by the wind. Between the socks and the skirt, I see countless Indents. From feet away, I can see the dips and ridges of soul-deep scars. "THE FUCK?!"
Before any of my brothers could stop me, I bust open the door with more strength than necessary and slam it closed with so much force, it makes the girl jump out of whatever hell she was trapped in. Holding my hand to Victor's driver, I storm my way over to the pixie who has no idea that once I get my hands on her, I'm never letting her go.
----------
Yay! What will Northy poo do? Go all cave man maybe...? I don't know!
...I really don't know. I haven't written it yet.
Bye!
*starts to type*
YOU ARE READING
Lost Soul
FanfictionI wouldn't call myself your typical 16-year-old high school girl. Some girls won't wear white because of their bra or scared their period might rear its ugly head. I can't wear white unless I want to showcase my artistically placed scars created an...
