The Secret Cutter

It was only meant to be a one-time thing. However it wasn't long until is was out of control. It was so simple to commit, but so hard to keep locked away. She told herself she was the only person who had to know. As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, she became isolated. Sure the scars healed and the tears dried, these blank spaces creating room for replacements. Red lines appearing over virtually her entire body. But she wasn't stupid or careless. She knew a scrub top would not cover her arms, she made sure that the scars that were left could only be seen behind closed doors. Blood droplets displaying patterns on the white tiles in her mother's bathroom. The noises outside exasperating her ears. Glass shatters to the floor as her father stumbles in wanting a fight. And she knew, as she always did, she would be on the receiving end of his alcoholic rage.

Everytime she braced herself to be able to stop it, stop the abuse that spat out of her father's mouth. Stop the punches and the sensation of his nails tearing her skin into shreds. To be able to run and squirm from his grip. And maybe, just maybe, be able to tell someone.

In reality this doesn't happen and if she was thinking straight she would have knew this. Knew that the only way out of this was to run, run when he was sober, when just forgot about the monster he developed into at night. The thing was, she couldn't even remember when he was last sober. Once his eye attached to a bottle of scotch the devil inside of him clutched it and he longed for that first sip. Yet that first sip wasn't enough. It was never enough.

His fist weighed heavily on the door, his voice raised. He shouted her mother's name, as he became restless and began shaking the door, attempting to break the hinges. She cowardly hunched in the corner of the room, wanting desperately for this to end. Stop. Her fragile frame shuddering, her breathing shallow as her eyes glanced up at the door as it fell just inches from her body. She stared deeply into her father's eyes, pleading that he would see the desperation reaching to the surface. He was too far gone to absorb her fear and he reached down and clutched her abdomen. He carried her and placed her on her mother's bed. It was too late to run now, too late to speak up. She was stuck and she knew what was coming next.

He thrusted his body on hers, barely hearing her screams as he crushed her fractured rib. One final blow to the head and she was out cold. He smirked slightly, she was a slut, a dirty one at that. She deserved this, he thought to himself. He began unzipping his trousers and his hands traced the curves of her figure until meeting her face. His stained lips touched hers, as his tongue slid into her mouth and then he waited.

As her eyes gently pealed open, she yelped as her glance caught with his. He was still there waiting. He began to undo her skirt and ripped off her underwear, smirking as he forced her legs apart and penetrated her. She screamed in pain, her hands slapping his torso, attempting to force him away. Don't move or I'll kill you. His hands proceeding to explore her breasts. Her whole body went numb and tears trickled down broken paths along her cheeks. Her eyes tightly closed willing this to end.