hate me

5 | again

[contains abusive content]

her pov

As I open the door, I feel goosebumps travel up my skin. Slowly, on my tippy toes, I make my way into the kitchen. Through the door to the living room my eyes focus on a not-moving body. Except from its chest rising up and down the frame seems lifeless. I sigh. He's asleep.

While I calm myself down, I take my goal into my view again. My hands cover the metal handle of the fridge and carefully pull forward. After a volatile skim of my options, my pick becomes the water bottle.

Truly surprising!

No, no it isn't.

Since my mothers death, my selection usually is the water bottle. You may think that I drink myself to sleep, but my medicine was never the tempting risky liquid. My safe heaven became marijuana.

Yeah, weed. A simple joint.

But it helped me through the hard times. Its kind of my only friend. The only one I can talk to, without shame or the feeling of annoying the person. Smoking weed rescued my life and reduced the pain for a small amount of time. I don't care if its bad for my health or shit. Why would I care?

I laugh. My life is the absolute hell, and my way out is weed.

During giggling, the ticking timebomb on my head decides to start a riot. The pain suffocates the signs of happiness and agonizes me to the ground. It feels like a knife got thrown into my brain. Strained, my hand moves to the ache, while the other one unsuccessfully tries to back up my corpse. The burning sting takes over my skull creeping.

Ugh, this feeling is going to kill me one day.

With my last piece of bundled power over my body I reach to the kitchen table, which comes out as the perfect supporter. While my grip was the tightest I've ever grabbed anything, I dragged myself up to a chair. Just seconds after, I collapsed onto it. The only thought I had in mind, was weed. My way to pause the pain. My way to escape.

My only way.

Eventually I persuaded my legs to cooperate and to begin the trip to my room. The water bottle totally crushed inside of my hand, the stairs get smaller and smaller behind me. After a felt eternal travel with the ending aim named my walls, I faint onto my bed. My vision gets dark, because of the suddenly hitting fatigue. And like this, I drift into a restless sleep.

[...]

Abruptly a cold hand crushes my shoulder and my eyes swing open. Searching for the origin of the pain, I shift my body forward, trying to raise my upper body. As I do so, two iron fists grab my hips. While I feel my trousers being harshly removed, I spin my skull, just to see the stranger, who laid on the couch when I came into this house today.

Quickly I cut my focus on the perpetrator, who uses no time to wait and fumbles at his pants' zipper. My tired eyes close for a second:

'This cant be happening again', I whisper to myself on the edge of tears.

One thing I've learned for my own safety, don't resist. It makes everything more painful. The grip, the entering, the exit, the screams, the beating, the long time, the act itself.

Just don't resist. Just let yourself endure. Just cut the feelings and wait till its over.

Just don't stop breathing.

Without warning he thrusts into me. I scream. Not a tiny bit of pleasure or wanting more, just pain. I squeeze my eyes together, overhearing a thundering "Shut up, you little bitch". Pressing my lips together to avoid screaming, I feel like the Pacific Ocean covers my vision.

While everything is blurry around me, the resounding claps of the man's and my skin seem to silent. However it doesn't feel like he would stop. With more and more entering and exiting my area starts to feel sore and excruciating.
Cutting off my mind, I sense so numb and empty. When I think back to the old days, this would have never happened, things would be a lot dif-

An agonizing screech fills my lungs. He increased his pace out of nowhere, which caused the soreness between my legs to send an aching sting through my exhausted body. Thus a burning inflame drew my booty. I can't make out the words he's saying, all I can hear is a piercing sound, drowning my ears in an ocean of deaf. Heavily breathing, I acknowledge an increasing clear. Seconds after, I collapse onto the bed, dully recognizing the liquid on my back. In the distance I catch a hollow blare which appears like a closing door.

It happened again.

My head sinks to my mattress. All my positivity was blown away, like a leaf on a windy autumn day.
As I close my eyes, my mobile rings out. I shift my corpse to the opponent side of the bed and take my device into my quavering hands. It's a message.

From Mary.