Disclaimer: I own nothing

Rating: It is rated teen because there are certain violent parts and talk about drugs sometime in the story.

I ran into my room and slammed the door behind me. I took out my phone and began franticly dialing numbers on it.

"Come on" I whispered as I waited for someone to pick up. I screamed as my doorknob twisted and turned furiously.

"Get out here!" my dad screamed from outside and began pounding the door with his fists.

I closed my eyes and whimpered in terror. Hot tears raced down my face as I waited for Gwen to pick up.

"Hey this is Gwen, leave a message at the beep, Beep!" My eyes widened in dismay as the pounding on my door grew louder and my door's hinges began to give way.

What did I do to deserve this? I thought. My thoughts were cut short when my father stormed in with baseball bat in his hands.

My name is Bridgette. I live in a bad neighborhood Vancouver, Surrey to be exact.

My parents had me by mistake, accidentally getting high one night which resulted in having me.

My parents didn't want me and they didn't have a problem showing me that. They didn't send me to school and they abused me on a daily basis.

Over the years, I had to start looking out for myself. I secretly got a part time job as a waitress at the local bar at age 14. There I met Gwen, my best friend.

My parents started noticing that I was gone most of the night. They must have liked slugging me because they demanded that I stay home and became even more infuriated when they found out that I had a job.

Now I am isolated, and I have to find a way out.

My dad swung his metal baseball bat straight at me. I ducked just a split second before it knocked my head straight off.

I ran towards the door while my dad swung his bat blindly at me. He shattered my bedroom window and my mom came in and grabbed me by the roots of my ponytail.

"Honey, was Bridgette giving you any trouble?" my mom asked in fake worry.

"Yep, we better teach her to show her parents some genuine respect" my dad snickered.

My mom dragged me up by my ponytail and threw me against a wall. (Since my parents didn't want to spend money decorating my room, my room had only concrete walls, a small blow up mattress, and a window)

My parents laughed as I crumpled to the floor. My left arm was scratched and torn with blood trickling down it. I tried to get up, but my mom leapt at me and pinned me down.

My dad began socking me in the stomach and slapping me in the face. I just sat there, like an old ragdoll. If I struggled, they would just pound me harder.

"Did you learn your lesson yet?" my dad mocked and I whimpered in reply. They let me go and walked out laughing and cheering.

I stood up and resisted to shriek in pain.

I looked at my reflection in a piece of my now shattered window. My face was red and puffy, my nose was running with blood, and I lifted my shirt to reveal two big bruises on my stomach.

At that moment I realized I had to escape.