chapter eight | maddie

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I'm trembling as I approach my house. I am not late, in fact I am quite early, but I know it won't matter. He won't hesitate. I open the door as quietly as I can. I can hear him snoring, he must be asleep. I close it cautiously, without making a noise. I see him passed out on the couch with one empty bottle of whiskey and one half full one beside him.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I slowly make my way past him and towards my bedroom. That's when the floor creeks. I hear him gruff. "Madison, is that you?!"
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yes" I squeak.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He stumbles over and grabs me. He stares at me for a while before striking me over the head. I whimper. "Don't cry!" He yells, before pushing me backwards. I bite my lip to stop the tears. "Sorry" I whisper. He grunts and walks away drunkenly. I make my way to my room and sit on my dresser.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I allow tears to seep through my eyes. I look up at myself in the mirror, my eyes land on my locket. I look down at it, hanging from my neck and open it. There are two pictures inside. One of my mother and one of my father. I grip it tight and hug it, wishing I could hug them. I begin to sob. I just wish they were here. God, I really wish they were here.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I look back up at my dresser mirror. My mascara has run everywhere and my makeup is ruined. I decide to wipe it off. I carefully let go of my locket and grab some makeup wipes.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀First I clean up all my mascara that has splattered everywhere and then proceed to remove the rest. As I take off layers and layers of foundation and concealer off my face it reveals old and fresh bruises. I move up to the side of my right eye and remove the makeup from there, revealing a big scar from when my stepfather had been so mad he had hit me over the head with a glass bottle. It had just missed my eye, almost blinding me. I go on to remove more and more makeup, only to reveal more and more scaring and bruises. And even though I've cleared up all the smudged mascara around my eyes, they're both still black. Can you remember the last time you had a black eye? Because I can't remember the last time I didn't.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Now I was done with my face I move down to the rest of my body. I remove concealer from my arms, shoulders and legs, displaying burn marks from when my stepfather has put out cigarettes on me, and many, many more bruises and scars. Once I'm finally done I sigh and stand up. I walk over to my wall mirror, it's a full body one. And I examine my butchered body. Tears begin to flow down my face once again. I slide down the wall in the corner of my room, and curl up into a ball. I cry from hours on end, just thinking the same damn thoughts over and over again. Why is this my life? What did I ever do to deserve this? Does God really hate me that much? I guess I understand though, because I hate me too.
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[a/n okay I'm gonna try to start to post more regularly, but like sorry if I don't bc I'm v busy rn x ]

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