A Little Ghost Help

~4~

Warning!!! This chapter has abuse! If you do not wish to read it, I have marked where the abuse begins and ends so you can skip over it if you want... Good luck.

Patton pov
The fire blew out in a puff of smoke and I felt a gust of wind blow out of the room. I guess I'm alone. Crouching down, I press my palms into my eyes. Of course he didn't know my relationship with my parents, but that didn't stop the comment from stinging. I tried to stop tears from leaking out. You don't deserve to cry. You deserve all the pain and suffering brought upon you and you will deal with it. The thought bitterly rushed through me. This ghost probably just wants me gone, but I have nowhere else to go until six. 

Once my tears were dry, I shakily got to my feet. Why did I have to cry? I'm glad the ghost wasn't here to witness it. That would have been ugly. Shakily, I stand up and return the pencil and notepad to my satchel. I grab my phone out and check the time. Four thirty. I quickly set a timer for an hour and fifteen minutes and put my phone away. I then drape my satchel back over my shoulders and begin to search the house. It was a grand building with a graceful finish. You could tell that it has been tampered with for the spooky effect. In a corner there were some fake body parts and spiders. You could tell they were fake because the house didn't smell like rotting flesh, and the spiders were huge. That didn't stop me from staying as far away from them as possible though. Fake or not fake, a spider is still a creepy crawly death dealer. 

I explored the first layer of the huge estate. It had one main room, a kitchen, a dining room, a hall, and a music room. I was just about to approach the stairs when a timer went off. Shoot! I have to start heading back! I gathered my things and walked towards the front door. As I reached it, I turned back to the strange interior. "Thank you for letting me stay." And with that, I left.

I was thinking about the ghost as I began my slow walk back to my house. Who are they? I believe it's a boy, but that's just from the story and I don't know the whole truth. I'll ask them next time. I wonder why they were murdered. The poor kid didn't deserve that! Speaking of kid, I wonder how old they were when they died. Maybe I really did see someone looking out that window. Can ghosts choose when they are visible? Ooh! It would also be cool if they could control who they were visible to.

I snapped my head up when I realized that I was only halfway home. Looking at my phone, my heart skips a beat. One minute until six?! Crap! I start sprinting. I have to be home by six! I fly down the street, and crash into this man who is wearing a leather jacket and stilettos. We fell into a heap on the concrete and his hot frappuccino spilled all over us. "Hey! Excuse you! Wait… Patton?" Shoot I recognized that voice.

"I am so sorry Remy! I'll pay you back I promise!" I jumped up and reached my hand out to him.

"Don't worry babes it's fine." He took my hand and got up. "Now where are you going in such a rush?" He pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so his green eyes could stare into mine. Oh right!

"I'm sorry Remy! I'm late and I got to go! I'll text you later!" I dashed off before he could reply.

"Look where you're going next time!" He called after me.

I made it to my house and looked at my phone. Six fifteen. I'm so dead. And the hot beverage didn't help my mood. I gently opened the door and quietly closed it behind me. Maybe they won't notice.

"Where were you?" Oh no. I turned to my father, keeping my gaze on the floor.

"I-I ran into some trouble while coming home from work." He surveyed my coffee covered clothes.

"Look at me while I'm speaking to you." He spat out and I looked at him. He wore a pristine black suit, showing that he just got home from work. It must have been a bad day today, which means it's about to become a worse day for me. I bite down hard on my lip, begging myself not to cry under his intense glare. His eyes were a deep blue and his facial features were sharp and unforgiving. He had dirty blonde hair and a permanent scowl etched into his brow. He looked me over once again and said, "you won't be joining us for dinner tonight," I nod my head. It could have been worse. "We'll see where the evening goes from there." My breathing hitched. That's never a good sign. He only says that… when…

"Yes father," I do my best to keep my voice level. I can't let emotions get the best of me here.

He walked up to me and I felt a slap. My whole body jerked and I choked back tears. Do not cry. Do not cry. "Go get that muck off you." I walked back to my room as steadily as I could. When I closed my door behind me, I broke down into sobs. I fell against the door and curled my knees up to my chest. I moved my hand to my cheek, where I am sure there is a mark. Weak. Useless. Mistake. Why can't I just man up and take care of myself? Why can't I just fight back and demand to be treated as an equal? ... because I deserve it. I deserve all this pain and suffering. I deserve to be in pain. I don't deserve their love. I try so hard to be accepted. I just have to try harder.

Tears were still tracing my face when I stood up and got changed. Weak. Useless. I examined my bare chest in my mirror. I might gain more scars and bruises tonight. I take off my bandages on my back when I turn to see how it's faring. The lines were still there from the belt, but it wasn't as bad as it was this morning. Last night my parents were having an important house guest over and I was in charge of making dinner. They were very happy with the dinner, but when dessert was served, it was less than ideal. I had been under so much stress while making the food, I didn't notice that I had accidentally put salt instead of sugar into the cake. The guest just laughed it off, but I could tell my parents' laughs were forced and harsher than a normal laugh is. 

(Warning! Beginning of abuse!)

The guest had stayed late so I was sent off to bed while they had their wine and talked. I could hear laughter coming from the other room, but I flinched every time I heard it. I knew something bad was going to happen. That night I had a fitful nightmare, but I preferred it to the morning. This morning. I was woken up with a bucket of ice water, then a bucket of boiling. I screamed. The pain had been unbearable. I was then dragged to the living room and thrown onto the floor. Mother spat filthy words at me, but three words were repeated over and over again. Weak. Useless. Mistake. 

Father had returned to the room with a black leather belt in his hand. It was covered in blood from previous experiences like this. They told me to sit on a chair backwards, and I did. I knew the drill. They had me remove my shirt, revealing past scars on my bare back that had closed. I felt my wrists being tied to the chair, but I didn't focus on that. I was terrified for the pain that I knew was coming. Tears were openly running down my face but I had been warned to not make a sound, so I didn't dare to. I felt the metal and leather rip into my back as I try to muffle my screams. I deserve this. I am weak. I am useless. I am a mistake. Blood fills my mouth. I must have bitten down on my tongue in an attempt to stay quiet.

 By the time it's over, I'm barely conscious. I felt like my body was on fire as I was released from the chair. I was dragged off and shoved into the floor. I fell hard as tears continued to stream down my face. No noise. I can't make a sound. 

That's when I felt the first kick. I recoiled in on myself and held my gut. Ow ow ow!!! Don't cry don't cry don't cry!! I couldn't think anything else as I was kicked again and again. In my gut, my chest, my back. I internally screamed as I was kicked. Over and over again. It's fine. You deserve this anyway. You messed up. You made the mistake. Now you are paying for it. They had gotten my right arm and held it out. Grabbing a pocket knife, one of my parents held my arm and the other one cut.

(End of abuse)

When they were done, Father had punched me right in the jaw, then walked away. Mother had stayed to wipe the blood off my back and wrap it because she knew I couldn't do it by myself. She then left the rest of the injuries to me as she followed Father. I just lied there. On the floor. For what felt like hours. I eventually got myself up and staggered into my room. I went to the first aid kit and cleaned and bandaged my wounds. Then I covered my visible injuries with makeup. I changed for the day and checked the time. I freaked out when I discovered that it was already 4th period and it took half an hour to get to school! I remember running as fast as I could in the condition I was in and how much pain my back was in from the exercise. I had already missed gym, thank goodness.

I was taken out of my train of thought when a knock ran out through my door. "Are you almost done in there? We want dinner to be done by seven!" 

"Yes mother!" I quickly shout out as I finish up changing and reapplying makeup to cover up this newest addition, the red handprint. They liked me covering my scars in case someone was to visit unexpectedly. 

I left my cardigan in my room as I rushed into the kitchen and started preparing for a dinner I'm not going to eat.

1846 Words

💖 Maybay4