Thanks to Neiph for reviewing :]
Chapter two
Pain
Arm.
Side.
Side.
Back.
Rib.
Leg.
Back.
Arm.
Arm.
Rib.
Leg.
Back.
Back.
Back.
I cried, begged him to stop. He didn't listen. He just kept hitting me, letting out a grunt once in a while. The pain spread from my torso to my fingers, even though he hadn't touched them at all. I curled into a ball. Dad snarled, kicked my shins, then continued beating me with the crowbar. I cried harder. He stopped. I burried my face in my knees, wailing and sobbing hysterically.
"Bad girl, Emma," Dad said loudly, giving me another kick. I just bawled into my knees. " I trusted you to be a good girl," he continued. "But you LIED!" He roared, starting to beat me again.
"Daddy, please! I'm sorry!" He stopped hitting me and dropped to his knees, grabbing the collar of my t-shirt.
"The only thing you're sorry for is getting caught," he growled in my face. I didn't know what to say, and even if I did, he would still beat the shit out of me. Suddenly Dad let go of my shirt and grabbed my hair to slam my face down in the floor. I screamed in pain. Tears were streaming down my face. Dad sat and watched me, breathing heavily. I tried to jerk away from his hand when I felt it begin to stroke my head, but Dad held me still.
"No, no, no, don't do that," he muttered. I let out an exhausted sound and relaxed. He pulled my head in his lap and looked down at me. "Daddy's still very cross with you," he said with a frown.
"I'm sorry," I offered. Dad shook his head.
"Daddy doesn't believe you."
"I am," I said insisted. Maybe if I could convince him then he wouldn't beat me again any time soon. That would bee my plan; I couldn't think of anything else to do.
"Again, only sorry that you got captured," he ground out through gritted teeth. Plan failed. Maybe I shouldn't give up so easily. Dad glared down at me. Maybe I should.
"I am sorry," I tried again.
"No, you're not," Dad growled. We sat in silence for a few minutes. Dad sighed and got up. He dragged me up by my hair and let me to outside the room. There was a staircase. I was afraid he would throw me down but he continued the dragging. My scalp burned. I almost fell over my own feet at some point. When we got the the end there was yet another door which Dad opened. On the other side were a long hallway with a lot of doors. We began walking. I didn't have a choice apparently. I looked up at Dad. He gave me a glance the resumed looking forward. Dad opened a door and we went inside.
The first thing I saw was a double-bed in the middle of the room with blankets trown over it. I guess Dad liked double-beds. He made me sit on it and disappeared out of another door. I gave the rest of the room a quick once over. It was a mess. Clothes were scathered around on the floor, along with make-up stains and what looked like blood stains. I shuddered at the thought of Dad killing someone in this very room I was in. I felt the hairs one the back of my neck rise at the thought of this room being haunted from all the poor souls he had killed in here. I didn't want to be in this room anymore.
I looked at the wardrope. Its doors were open, letting me see more clothes. I looked over at the wooden desk. It was so full of papers you couldn't see its surface but I'm pretty sure I could there was a knife too. I sniffed and looked down at my lap. My cheeks were still wet from all the tears. I let out a pathetic sob as Dad came back in the room. Just before he closed the door I saw what was on the other side. A bathroom. I kept my eyes on Dad as he took a chair and sat down in front of me. He cleared his throat.
"Give me your arm." I looked up at him.
"What?" Dad rolled his eyes.
"Your arm-ah. Give it to me."
I raised both arms to my chest and kept them there. Dad sighed in annoyance.
"I'm not going to hurt you again if that's what you think." I didn't move. "I'm just gonna clean them for all the blood you got all over yourself." He said it as if it was my fault, but I was the one who ran away so I suppose it was. When I still didn't move Dad grabbed my arm and began to roughly clean it with a wet towel. I whimpered in pain. As the dried blood came off my arm I saw all the scratches and bruises thrown all over it. Dad cleaned my other arm too.
"You better not do something like this again, Emma," Dad mumbled. "For your own sake."
Out of nowhere he stood up and went over to the wardrope. Clothes were thrown everywhere as he searched for something. A t-shirt landed on my head and a pair of sweat pants in my lap. "Put those on."
Dad lifted me up and pushed me inside the bathroom after he had placed the pants on my head too.
I shivered from the cold and rubbed my arms. My stomach growled. I was lying on the bed in the attic. I had been here in two days now. And I was bored and cold and hungry.
I rolled down on the floor. Now my side hurt. I kept rolling until my back hit the wall and I was pushed back. I let myself land on my stomach. I was so bored I could scream. Good idea. I screamed as loud and long as I could. Then listened. Nothing. Another scream, not as loud as the other. A sigh. My sigh. I didn't know a sigh could feel lonely. But it was. I almost wanted to cry because it seemed so alone. I felt for the little sigh. It was gone now, the sigh. Disappeared into the cold air. And it didn't even say goodbye. I missed the sigh now. How could it have just left me like that? Didn't it have a heart?
I missed the sigh so much I had to replace it with another. I tried to grab it but that too just disappeared into thin, cold air. Damn it. I frowned. I tried to grab another sigh that came faster out of my mouth. Didn't work. Then I got an idea. I curled into a ball and postitioned my face inwards. Then sighed again. I'm pretty sure I caught it but it must've escaped while I blinked becaused it wasn't there when I looked. I tried again. Nope. I tried again but it sounded more like a moan this time. I moaned louder, trying to catch that instead of a sigh. I tried again and again, the moans getting louder and louder, more violent. Until I heard a familiar voice almost shout at me.
"What the hell are doing?" I looked up. Dad was standing in the doorway with a compination of confusen and anger on his face.
My mouth went into a thin line. I know what it must've looked like. I knew I was blushing when my cheeks got warm. "Uh..."
Dad seemed to consider me thorougly. I slowly uncurled myself. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to catch my own moans in that kind of position.
Dad cocked his head at me, his eyes narrowing. "Did I...interrupt something?" I quickly shook my head.
"No." Dad shifted a bit.
"Because to me it looked like you were-"
"No," I repeated more forcefully. "No, I wasn't...doing anything." Dad looked sceptic, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. An awkward silence filled the room. It was awkward to me, anyway. Why did I have to get these moments of weirdness? Now Dad thought I had been mastur-
No. I didn't know what to say or do as Dad just stood there, staring at me. I'd wish he'd at least say something because, somehow, him being quiet was worse than him talking or beating me to a bloody pulp. Unfortunately it was my mouth that opened, on itself, it seemed.
"What are you doing up here?" The words just came out before I had time to think. I wondered what Dad would have done if I had kicked myself at that moment, because I really wanted to. Who knew what he would do, with me questioning him. Why couldn't I have just kept my big mouth shut?
"What?" Dad looked furious as he took a step closer to me. "A father can't check on his own daughter when she suddenly screams?"
Oh... He heard that.
"I..." I didn't know what to say. "It...um..."
"What?"
"I...was bored."
"Bored?"
"Yeah...so I tried to catch my moans..." Again Dad just stared at me as if I was the most weirdest creature he had ever seen.
"Catch your..." Suddenly Dad began chuckling, shook his head and slammed the door closed after going outside. I just sat on the floor, wondering if he belived it or not. Guess I would never know. I should definitely try holding back on the moments of weirdeness.
I sighed through my nose, got up on my feet and began walking in circles around the room. My stomach growled again. I rubbed it. My foot hurt every time I stepped on it from when I had fallen down in the sewers two day ago.
Suddenly my foot got thrown back when I stepped on something and landed face first down on the creaking wooden boards that made the floor. I looked over my shoulder and saw a long, round tin can rolling away from me. I stared at it for a little while. It came to rest against an old-looking cardboard box. How had I not seen that before my foot thought it could step on it?
I decided not to think about it anymore and laid my head back down. I grunted in pain when the bruise on the side of my face that Dad had given me yesterday landed on the floor.