I walked up to the house, my broken window, holes in the walls, moldy old house. Inside the house was an ugly secret, it was as ugly as the outside. My father has been sexually abusing me since my mother died when I was 8. Ever since then, he just stopped speaking and he started drinking. It made me sad that the man who I once loved and looked up to was now hurting me, touching me in places that were once forbidden to anyone, especially him. The man who I called Dad, the man who had once had black straight hair and a clean face, clean clothes and a good job. Now he was just an emotionless, sad man who now has messy hair, a 5 o'clock shadow, no clean clothes and no job. I don't love my dad anymore, I don't have a reason why.
I walked inside, the house was broken, the table was covered in grime and dust from never being used anymore. The fridge was empty, the couch had a broken leg and the arm of the couch was chewed up from my dog, Pepper. The T.V. was on, no one was in the room. I quietly set my bag down and jogged over to the bathroom. I closed the door quietly and peeled away my clothes, I stood in front of the mirror, looking at all the bruises and cuts on my body. I caressed my arms as I stared at my reflection. Blonde hair with purple and blue streaks, pale skin, dark makeup. I took out my piercings and stood there, staring at myself.
6 years of abuse and lies. Of pain and misery. There's no good way out. I looked down. There were so many times that I thought about killing myself, I thought it was the only way out, maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Hopefully it isn't.
I stepped inside the shower and turned on the water and curled up at the bottom on the shower. I listened to the sounds in the next room, my father's room, as the yellowish-brown water flowed over my head and down my body. I heard him grunt as he got up and stumbled toward the hallway. I heard him walk over and stand by the door.
He opened the door and walked in, he looked at me, drunk, and growled. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up, I whimpered and sobbed a bit. He bent me over and all of a sudden, I felt sick, sick of all the abuse and sick of my father. I pushed my father away and ran out the bathroom door. My father ran after me, he caught up to me and pushed me down, pressing me into the wooden floor. I turned and kicked my father making him curl up. I got out from under him, he grabbed my legs and I fell head first into the table by the front door. The last thing I remember was a horrible pain in my head and my father's face over mine.