Hey there, everyone! I am writing another fic! Why? Because I don't want to
study German grammar! (who would?) This makes much fun. Yes.
WARNING: This fic deals largely with domestic abuse. I may also be including ZADR later; I will let you know for sure later.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, only my sick and twisted ideas.
A Life Lived in Fear
Dad slammed my fingers in the closet door. I don't think he meant to; it was just one of those things that happens, and you feel bad about, mostly. He did feel bad; he kissed them both while he made an ice pack. He declared that they were all better, and told me to sit in my room til the hurt went away. They hurt a lot, and I remember they got big and red and purple.
I went to show him after a few hours. I hadn't really stopped crying, because I couldn't think of anything but how they felt like fire. He glanced at them and told me to go to bed. I insisted that they hurt too much for me to sleep, holding my left hand up so he could see the hurt. His eyes slowly peeled themselves away from the bubbly instruments on the counter, and said to sleep NOW or they will hurt more. That scared me, cause they already hurt a lot. I didn't want it to get real bad. So I ran up to my room and went to bed.
No one ever did take me to the doctor for that. Mom wrapped them up for me when Dad was gone, wrapped them good and tight. She said she was trying to fix them nice, and told me another story about space aliens. I always had to let her cut the bandages off when Dad came home, though. She said he was too stress-ed to see that my fingers still hurt.
No one really asked about it at school. Both of those fingers were twisted funny when it stopped hurting. Kind of like they were trying to point at something I couldn't see. Mom said it was okay, and that I shouldn't be sad. It was something u-nique about me. That means special. It's funny when someone asks how old I am, though. I think they can see my bent fingers when I show them I'm eight. But they never ask me questions. Maybe they don't really notice it.
Three years later..
*** September 16 It's been a year since Mom died now. I miss her so much that it hurts sometimes. My fingers throb, remembering the first time she covered for Dad. Sometimes I get angry that she never did anything to help me before. it happened. But then I remember that she didn't know she was going to get hit by that drunk driver. She didn't know that she had to stop being scared that day, before she left for work. She didn't know that she would be gone, and there would be no one around to help me keep Dad away when he got angry.
He gets angry more now that she's gone. I think Mom was the only thing that kept him from exploding. Now he's always on me about something. When he's here. If it's just me and him, then I have to look out. I used to be okay just staying in my room, but the door's no barrier lately. He comes in anyway.
Nothing is really that bad. I get bruises or cuts, but nothing I can't shrug off to others as clumsiness. The few who care enough to ask are ignorant enough to believe me. I'm the crazy one. Just because I hold on to the one thing that keeps my mother with me, I'm crazy.
They don't even notice the alien. He showed up at the beginning of this year. His green skin and earless, noseless head completely give it away, but everyone falls for his stunt. I can't believe how ignorant they are.
Luckily, Dad's at the lab for this week. If he stops home, chances are that I'll be at school, or out doing something else. I'll find other things to do. I always can.
It feels good to be able to get this out to someone. I really can't talk to anyone about this stuff. About Dad, anyway. I'm too. afraid. Like Mom was. He would get mad, and hurt me even worse. Most of the time, he'll just yell. But anything is still possible, especially now, around the time Mom died. I'll write again sometime.
-Dib ***
WARNING: This fic deals largely with domestic abuse. I may also be including ZADR later; I will let you know for sure later.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, only my sick and twisted ideas.
A Life Lived in Fear
Dad slammed my fingers in the closet door. I don't think he meant to; it was just one of those things that happens, and you feel bad about, mostly. He did feel bad; he kissed them both while he made an ice pack. He declared that they were all better, and told me to sit in my room til the hurt went away. They hurt a lot, and I remember they got big and red and purple.
I went to show him after a few hours. I hadn't really stopped crying, because I couldn't think of anything but how they felt like fire. He glanced at them and told me to go to bed. I insisted that they hurt too much for me to sleep, holding my left hand up so he could see the hurt. His eyes slowly peeled themselves away from the bubbly instruments on the counter, and said to sleep NOW or they will hurt more. That scared me, cause they already hurt a lot. I didn't want it to get real bad. So I ran up to my room and went to bed.
No one ever did take me to the doctor for that. Mom wrapped them up for me when Dad was gone, wrapped them good and tight. She said she was trying to fix them nice, and told me another story about space aliens. I always had to let her cut the bandages off when Dad came home, though. She said he was too stress-ed to see that my fingers still hurt.
No one really asked about it at school. Both of those fingers were twisted funny when it stopped hurting. Kind of like they were trying to point at something I couldn't see. Mom said it was okay, and that I shouldn't be sad. It was something u-nique about me. That means special. It's funny when someone asks how old I am, though. I think they can see my bent fingers when I show them I'm eight. But they never ask me questions. Maybe they don't really notice it.
Three years later..
*** September 16 It's been a year since Mom died now. I miss her so much that it hurts sometimes. My fingers throb, remembering the first time she covered for Dad. Sometimes I get angry that she never did anything to help me before. it happened. But then I remember that she didn't know she was going to get hit by that drunk driver. She didn't know that she had to stop being scared that day, before she left for work. She didn't know that she would be gone, and there would be no one around to help me keep Dad away when he got angry.
He gets angry more now that she's gone. I think Mom was the only thing that kept him from exploding. Now he's always on me about something. When he's here. If it's just me and him, then I have to look out. I used to be okay just staying in my room, but the door's no barrier lately. He comes in anyway.
Nothing is really that bad. I get bruises or cuts, but nothing I can't shrug off to others as clumsiness. The few who care enough to ask are ignorant enough to believe me. I'm the crazy one. Just because I hold on to the one thing that keeps my mother with me, I'm crazy.
They don't even notice the alien. He showed up at the beginning of this year. His green skin and earless, noseless head completely give it away, but everyone falls for his stunt. I can't believe how ignorant they are.
Luckily, Dad's at the lab for this week. If he stops home, chances are that I'll be at school, or out doing something else. I'll find other things to do. I always can.
It feels good to be able to get this out to someone. I really can't talk to anyone about this stuff. About Dad, anyway. I'm too. afraid. Like Mom was. He would get mad, and hurt me even worse. Most of the time, he'll just yell. But anything is still possible, especially now, around the time Mom died. I'll write again sometime.
-Dib ***