Cancer//adopted by my chemical romance

Prologue

Pale droplets of water make their way down our old, beaten up cars window, the rain echoing the dreary mood of the three occupants.

My mother, whose precariously sat as far away from my father as possible, leans up against the window in the front. I think if she could fully leave the car she would. They'd been arguing again and he'd slapped her; a normal occurrence, but added with the severity of our current situation, she's upset.

Probably more than upset, considering that my monster of a father had just gambled away our home, leaving us completely homeless.

He's an awful man, someone that I do my best to stay away from if possible, but I usually end up being at the receiving end of his anger, and my god theirs a lot of it.

When he's around I turn into a living, breathing slave, obeying all his commands, in constant fear of becoming his target once again.

When I'm not around him I'm a walking bag of nerves, his years of inflicted mental and physical torture turning me into a nervous wreck.

My anxiety is always much too high, and my panic attacks too frequent.

My parents unfortunately know about my panic attacks and I was forced to be diagnosed with chronic anxiety. My father doesn't believe it, and persistently uses it as an alibi for his acts.

She's upset; anxiety.
She's got a black eye; self inflicted.

She's mentally ill, what do you expect?

And yes, whilst I still suffer from mental illness, most of the wounds on my body are from my father, the cigarette burns, the bruises always formed over my stomach due to his constant kicks.

I hate that man with all my life; I want to escape him.

But yet I settle for starving myself, my cruel form of control that I have been using for years.

Father yells at me, skip dinner.

It sounds stupid, but it helps, at least I have control over my ever decreasing body fat.

It never used to be bad, just a skipped meal here and there.

But now it's becoming everyday.

The weakness in my shaky hands, the black spots whenever I stand.

It's not good; I know it's not.

But at least if I am to die from it I'll finally be away from him.

It started off with an urge to be skinny, but now it's an urge to be a walking skeleton, as little as can be.

It turned into an addiction, and often times the thought of food scares me.

And yet nobody notices, nobody cares, not until I wake up, a corpse in my own bed.

I honestly don't know why my mind always becomes dark whenever I think, I feel as if the years of constant belittling from not only my father, but my peers has taken a toll on me.

I can never feel okay, even when away from him.

The gritty voices in my head screaming at me about my little self worth; forcing me to put myself in as much harm as possible.

Perhaps it's a good thing that's he's abusive, maybe I would have already killed myself by now from my own acts already.

//

We finally pull off of the main road and into a town, we must be near.

I hide under my long, unkept black hair as I face my shoes, a pair of old doc martens that I had found in a charity shop.

Their black paint may be flaking, but I love them all the same.

I was never given an allowance, apart from a few meagre dollars that my mother would force into my hands whenever my father was too intoxicated to notice.

My small amount or clothes are secondhand, but I make them work.

My skinny jeans, which do not fit my waist whatsoever, are held on by a belt wrapped around my waist multiple times.

I would rip them, but I can't, in fear of my fathers marks striking out from the holes.

I wear a simple black Tshirt with a graphic design on it, a good find for the local charity shop. As well as a plain black hoodie which is actually my size for once.

The car stops.

"This is it, I remember this house" my mother says, timidly, the years of his abuse taking a toll on her as well.

"WHAT IF THEY'VE MOVED? DID YOU EVER STOP TO THINK ABOUT THAT?" He screams, spit flying from his mouth as he speaks.

"It was our only option" she manages to squeak out, causing him to grunt as an answer.

I can tell that he wants to start an argument, but if my grandparents really do live here I don't think that would be a good first impression.

As much as he loves to abuse us, he keeps it hidden among others.

"Raven, stay put, AND DONT FUCKING THINK OF LEAVING THIS CAR!" my father turns and yells at me.

I nod, he thinks I'll fuck things up for them.

/////

What do you think of the prologue?

This book is going to be sad if you can't tell.

I love writing angsty stories based on sad topics, so there's a big trigger warning for this whole book.

Actual chapters will be longer than this.

I'll try and update as much as I can with my college course in the background lol.