Battle Scars

I walk down the street, rain dripping down my cheeks

I hear muffled voices from a house,

There are people surrounding a girl and a cake with candles,

Some look to be the same age as the girl, others seem to be older, maybe parents or uncles and aunts

I stop and just stare, I take a deep breath in and hold it

Now, I can't tell what's falling down my cheeks

I can tell, is that I have to get home before I get hurt even more than I already think I am

I finally let that breath out and start walking again,

To the place I wish I didn't know,

Home.

I walk up to the house and see all the lights off, but one

that can mean only one thing because it's only like that when something's happened

And that something is me.

I trod through the mud and step up on stair, then the next

Before I can even, the door swings right open and I'm pulled inside

Darkness is all I see, falling is all I feel

The door slams and I know what's coming

I don't cry, crying is for the weak

But I brace myself for the worst, the beating,

So bad, some would rather die.

But not me, I'm used to it, I've become immune

I feel the hand brush past mine and land right into my stomach,

I suck in a breath,

Okay, maybe not immune, but this could've hurt a lot more

There's silence, so I sit up

It's still dark and I can't see but I squint my eyes anyways

I feel the wind brush past my face,

The miss like a drunk bastard,

I slide, inch by inch, as quiet as I can

The floorboards betray me,

They squeak.

He groans and mumbles stupid bitch

He walks to me,

doing the opposite of me, making so much noise

Don't betray me now.

I slowly slide backwards,

I grimace from the pain from the hits

He inches closer

I slide to the left

Boom.

Oh shit. I bump into a table.

I can sense that he turns to look at me

I curl into the smallest ball I can, not worrying about the pain

It'll only hurt more now that you've tried to run

He puts one.

Foot.

In.

Front.

Of.

The.

Other.

Oh so slowly, I shake my head,

No, no. This is not how I end.

He stops.

I can feel his breath.

The one time I'm glad he's drunk, senses are messed up.

My face tingles as his hand lightly brushes past,

Gentle as the wind now? More like the dough concrete.

Now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark, I see the figure of his hand move to the lamp

I put my hand down farther out,

I scream out in pain as I feel his foot connect with hand,

The light turns on.

I see his pupils retreat

I see his dirty scum face, smell his alcoholic breath, feel the heat from his body.

I'd rather. Die.

He puts his hand to me face

I try to smack it away but he smacks mine

And I let one.

Tear.

Fall.