I lay here broken and naked. He took everything from me. Everything. I can’t move, it hurts too bad. I know he will come back, he always does. I can barely move, but I am able to move enough to crawl to my bed. I slowly pulled myself up, wincing the whole time. I am able to sit up without much pain. On my arm I see my skin start to turn a yellowish color. My legs are colored with the same splotches. Each breath hurts. I can feel the tears down my cheeks. I lay down, trying to sleep.
When I awoke, the house was quiet. He was gone at work, then to the bar and wouldn’t be home ‘til late. I crawled out of bed and carefully got dressed. I did my makeup, trying to cover the bruises. When I was done, I crawled down my ladder to the top floor. My bag came down next. I quietly walked to my brother’s room and woke him. He knew what happened as soon as he saw me, but he got ready without a word. He knew I didn’t wanna talk about it. I smiled and walked away.
I went downstairs to make him breakfast, then I sat waiting for him. He came down all ready. He was two years younger then me. Like me he had dark blonde hair and gray eyes, where my eyes lacked energy his had it. He was a small and scrawny, also like me. We looked like our mom, but we didn’t know her. She left when we were young.
Everything was almost perfect before she left. Our dad never once tried to hurt us, he never once even lifted his voice. Mom was happy, or she seemed. She never gave us an explanation, she just left in the middle of the night. After that, dad was angry, he drank all the time. soon after he started beating us-mostly me. I didn’t mind, though, I didn’t want my brother to hurt. Even without a mother or loving father he didn’t deserve this, well nobody actually did.
I walked over picking up my bag, but before I could he had grabbed it. He carried mine and his, the whole way to school. Each step hurt, terribly. The school day was all to short, before I knew it, it was over. We walked home, we walked up the front steps. He wasn’t home. Not unexpected. My brother looked at me trying to smile reasurringly. I smiled back, but it was weak.
School was not hell for me like it was most kids, it was a place where I could escape. I tried to focus on my school work and block out the hell at home. But the day was never long enough, I always had to return home much to soon.
When we got inside, we went our seperate ways. He went to his room, I went to the kitchen to make dinner. It had to be done before he got home this time or he would be angry. He always was though, ever since Mom left. Blaming us for her leaving. Beating us for his mistakes. I instictively reached for my arms, my scars. The ones I created. When Mom first left I was depressed I cut myself, but then dad started hurting me enough.
When dinner was done, dad still wasn’t home, we were hungry. We waited awhile, then ate. WE returned to my room. The rain beting the window. We sat there stalking. We heard a car door, I told him to run, he went to his room and closed the door. I stayed in the attic curled in a ball on my bed. He was yelling my name and a string of curse words. His speech was slurred and becoming louder. I uncurled myself and stood up. I walked over to the ladder. I was about half way down, when he knocked me off. I hit the ground with a sickening thump.
“GET UP YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING-LAZY-ASS-SON-OF-A-BITCH!” He yelled at me. I knew if not before, for sure now one of my ribs was broken-at least one. He didn’t stop there, he continued to yell and hit me. I tried to get up, but he only kept knocking me over again. The tears were hard to hold in, but I know that if he saw them he would hit harder, the more he hit me the less he hit my brother.
When he was done I didn't move-I couldn't. It hurt to even breathe. After awhile the pounding in my head started to lessen, but my heart still hurt. I was able to pull myself to the ladder, I slowly pulled myself up-tears running freely now. The whole world was blurring now, my eyes swimming with tears and my head foggy. I made it up then I collapsed. I was too week to pull myself to my bed. I spent the night on the floor. It was uncomfortable ad hard, I didn't sleep very much, if at all.
The sun didn’t wake me the next morning, my brother did. He had a new cut on his lip-it wasn’t as bad as me-but I knew it hurt. He covered it with his hand and said it was nothing. He helped me get dressed. When I took off my shirt he gasped, my rib was sticking out and my stomach was bleeding. I didn’t remember him stabbing me or even having a knife, but I sorta remember blacking out. I quickly put another shirt on-or as quickly as I could. I brushed my long hair over one eye-not for the reason most emo guys do- but because my eye was black. I looked over at my brother, who had been standing there the whole time watching me.
“I don’t know how you do it. You stay strong, when you have every right to break down. I love you. You are everything I have ever wanted to be.” He said. Then he carefully put his arm around me and hugged me. I couldn’t hold in the tears anymore, his words touched me and made me remember why I never broke down-for him. Without him I would’ve given up a long time ago. He eventually let go and I wiped my eyes. We went downstairs then to school.
School wasn’t hell for me, like it was most other kids. It was a place I could escape home. The first few hours went by fast, nothing happened. In fourth hour I started to fall asleep, I didn’t sleep well the night before. Everything still hurt, but here I wasn’t worried. I layed my head down on my desk and closed my eyes. At first there was lots of color and light, then it started to fade. I saw my mom’s smile then heard my dad’s yelling. That was all drowned out with red-blood. It all rushed so fast I saw my wrists and my brother’s face. His scars and bruises. I tried to wake up-escape the nightmares-but I couldn’t.
My head shot up and I was gasping for air. My teacher looked at me with disappointment in her eyes-if she only knew; maybe then she would understand. She gave me another look and handed me a pass, I slowly walked to the nurse. When I walked in she took my pass and told me to lay down. I did, but I couldn’t sleep. I knew the office would call my dad, for most kids that would mean a nap and peace, but for me it meant another beating. After awhile the nurse came over and asked me if I was okay. She was a very small woman with graying hair and glasses at the end of her nose I wanted to tell her, but I couldn’t. When I didn’t respond she told me to lift up my shirt so she could check my breathing. I sighed and looked at her-how could I refuse either way she would know something was wrong. “C’mon,” she said. I unzipped my sweatshirt and pulled up my purple shirt. I heard her gasp and knew what she saw.
On my stomach were bruises and a huge gash and my ribs were sticking out, all from him. I looked at her through my hair. She had an astonishing look on her face. When she asked what happened I said it was nothing. I put my shirt back on and got up to leave, but I felt dizzy and had to sit back down. I waited awhile, trying not to cry. When she realized I wasn’t going to talk, she got up and went to the phone and dialed. I listened, but I already knew who she was calling...my dad.
He came and got me, we got in his car and he drove. We got to the house and he yelled and slapped me. Then he reached into his pocket, I didn’t see what he pulled out right away. My head was thumping and my vision was blurry. The sun was beating through the window and when he raised his arm I saw the light catch on something silver. He brought the knife down quickly, driving it through my torso. I felt the pain of the stab and then nothing else. The whole room went fuzzy and I felt myself fall. I hit the ground with a thud. My breathing came in short gasps and I looked up at him. He reached down and removed the weapon, which was no longer silver. The blade was covered in my blood. He took the blade and left, leaving me to die. I bled out on the kitchen floor, leaving my brother alone with this terrible man.
I know they won’t take my brother away to a better place, because they would think I simply killed myself-just like my dad would’ve said. My brother would now take all the hurt. My breathing finally stopped and so did my heart. I died in my kitchen by the hands of my father.
