A/N: another quick 'chappy' (I guess you guys like this word now, huh) for you guys!

warning: may be a little disturbing for some people :))

I was in the living room, doodling obscure things in my colouring book, as it was like any other Tuesday evening. ...and that's when I heard it- a loud commotion- shouting, even- in the next room.

I screamed loudly as I entered the kitchen, seeing my father's hand sweep cross my mother's face, leaving a strange red imprint on her right cheek as blood began to pour from her nose.

"Mum!" I rushed to her side with a towel as I held her, in my feeble attempts to protect her.

"You and that fuckin' kid are goin' no where, you hear me?"

Although I didn't quiet understand what he was saying, I shook at his words. Why wasn't my mother doing anything to him?! Say something, please!

"...and don't you ever talk back to me like you did before, alright?" ...I wondered what mum said before that made him so angry. "Now fix me dinner and get that fucking kid out of here!" he spat.

I was so confused at the time... I've never seen my father like this before... He wasn't a very... 'warm' person, if that's how you say it. But never have I seen him like this. Was he always attacking her behind my back?

"Did you hear me?!"

We shook as he approached us even closer, and my mother pulled me in tighter. I could even sense the fear she was having.

"J-just go, Wilson..." she croaked, barely audible.

"What did you say?" I could hear the anger building up in his voice. Oh, please don't hit her again, please...

"Just leave!" My mother bursted out, crying.

I could hear him chuckle under his breath. "...well, there you have it." He laughed even louder as he backed out of the room, "Well, you two are fucked. Have a nice life without me, then," and ran out.

I remember going out the front porch and watching my father get into his same little dusty black motorcycle and drive off, never to be seen again.

I collapsed to the floor on his first hit, caressing a stinging cheek. "What are you even-" I sputtered out as I struggled my way off the floor.

"You- are- so- fucking-" he shouted in between harsh punches against my body, "-worthless."

My entire body sank at his word. Well, he's done it this time... he broke me. I stood there silently as I touch all his hits and mean comments, crying out in my head, So, this is going to be the rest of my years, huh?

I looked up as I felt him stop his throws, "...and no one... could ever love you." He looked me dead in the eye, pushed my shoulders back, and waltzed out of the room as if nothing ever happened.

Crying silently to myself, I shuffled quietly to the door, and gently shut it. That's when I began having a breakdown- He's right. You're worthless.

I quietly turned back to that familiar mirror, and stared at my cracked reflection. Ugly, nothing but ugly... I felt my lost of control in myself as I shoved the mirror off the wall, and onto the floor, causing a thunderous crash.

I kept spitting comments towards myself as I staggered over to my suitcases, still propped open from last night. In my sudden urgency and panic, I began throwing all my items out, left and right, looking for that one specific- and there it was... a small utility knife. I didn't know I was going to do this... falling back into my bad habits... I don't need this...

I pushed those thoughts out of my head as I shot back angrily at myself, "No, you knew this was going to happen, coming here!" I cried, shutting my windows tight and draping the thick curtains over it. Throwing my suitcases off the bed with little thought, I then crouched on my sheets in desparity as I held the knife with a shaking hand.

Here goes nothing.

There's this thing about making that first cut- you swear you'll only make a few marks, then you'd be able to reason with yourself... and stop yourself.

But the thing is... you won't.

You'll begin to get addicted to this sort of pain- and with every single slice to your skin, you'll be wanting more, quite frankly.

It's quite sad, really- how one can find pleasure in the hand of a knife.

...and the whole time you'll be craving the blood that falls, the pain you give yourself- and the best part is, you know you deserve all of it.