Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. – Annabelle.
BPOV
I cried out. The pain, the pain…too much, it was too much.
I thought it would end, I thought he would stop; I thought someone would have mercy.
But it wouldn't. I had done something, and it landed me in the depths of the hell I was experiencing now.
At last he was finished. My father. The name burned, even in my mind. I couldn't name the things he did to me on a daily basis, the things that made me look like death. That made me feel like death.
I wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for my flighty mother. One day, she came to our house in Forks, Washington, and showed us her new husband. Bluntly she stated that she was finished with my "boring" father, and she was off to pursue bigger things. She left us; she left me.
It wasn't a year before it started. The rape, the abuse. I could see the emptiness in my father's eyes, the deadness that was present there every day. It was because of my mother's cold-hearted goodbye, because of the darkness in my father revealed after his heartbreak. I wasn't sure whom I blamed more.
But one thing was for sure: I was alone. Nobody could save me from my hell on earth. I learned to cover the signs for school; the first time I sought help had been disastrous.
He left me on the bed, bleeding on the inside and out. I heard him leave the room, and let my tears fall. I was alone. Nobody cared for me, nobody would help me, I had no one.
Blood saturated the sheets as I cried silently. I would never escape; there was no hope. At school, I was an outcast, the quiet, too-skinny girl with the sad face. No one bothered to talk to me. I listened to the rainfall on the roof, an echo of the darkness in my heart. I looked over my bleeding, naked body and remembered how it used to be, when Renee was still here, when Charlie was happy. We would go places; never a bad word was spoken to me. Now all I was called was slut, bitch, ungrateful whore.
I buried my face in a ratty pillow and screamed. I screamed until my voice was hoarse, until my body was exhausted. The same hopelessness that descended every day came again, but a thousand times worse: all my memories were crashing down on me, every beating, every rape, every name…beating me with the sheer remembrance, stripping me of hope.
Every day I saw my peers, happy, carefree. Why couldn't I even have a taste of that? I could treasure it in my memory; go back to it. But nobody would ever share their sunshine with me. I would never have a good life, with shallow problems and loving friends and family. Most likely, Charlie would accidentally take it too far, and I would die the same as I am now: broken, and alone.
The tears flowed freely now as Charlie came in, laughed, and left. Drowsiness, the sweet numb, came over me as I whispered,
"Please, God, give me something."
Suddenly, much too fast, everything went black.
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