I'm willing to go extreme with my stories, keep in mind! Before you start reading, you should know that this story has:
*[Drugs/ Detailed sexual content/ Detailed violence/Gore/Mutilation/Cussing/Dirty Jokes/Alcohol/ Physical abuse]*
Also, please be aware that this story is under HUGE HUGE reconstruction, even if its not finished. More chapters are to come.
What do all monsters have in common? Let me give you a hint. They kill. But everyone has a bit of a monster lingering inside them. That monster makes it a bit easier to pull the trigger or to punch someone. My father is that monster who lurks under my bed during the night and because of him, I lost my sister. The thought of losing her made me wanna curl into a ball and die. But instead, I laid in bed, listening to a thunderstorm pass by, switching to my other side.
After our argument, I angrily left the house, leaving my sister inside. My dad came back from work early. He complained about having a migraine before he left that morning, the police saying he took pills that were not prescribed and that's what drove him crazy enough to kill her. To me, it sounded like a ridiculous story, I never heard of a drug that would make you slaughter someone they loved. I chugged back a tear along with a lump that rapidly burned in my throat, turning my face red. I had no one left to turn to but my mom. I am so grateful she's here but it's not enough.
God, I hate my dad for taking away my happiness. I still mourn my sister's death until this day, even if it was 3 years ago. Now Mom has a new husband and I have a new step dad but he's no better than my last one, he's just the same alcoholic freak. Mom sure did know how to pick her soul mates.
𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 1, 2018
I woke up to the sound of an alarm going off. I searched blindly to turn my alarm clock off, but the sound wasn't coming from there, it was coming from down the hall. The house was still too new that I didn't trust the thought of accidents. I wasn't risking my life without bringing a weapon.
Quickly slipping out of bed, I stood to my feet with just underwear, a big t-shirt, and messy hair, grabbing my old metal softball bat and handled it, doing a couple of test swings. Leaving my room, I slowly walked down the hall, one foot in front of the other. Fear built up, expecting my biological dad to be waiting there, slouched on the couch, holding a knife in his hand, ready to kill me next but relaxation came to mind as I stood by the end of the corridor, watching Mom trampling over by the door, trying to turn the new home safety alert off.
After she punched 6 numbers, deactivating it, I instantly dropped the bat onto the floor in relief. She turned around, her expression seemed restless but not surprised.
"What did you plan on doing with that thing," she asked, taking hold of the grocery bags again and leading it into the kitchen as I followed behind her.
"You can never be too sure," I answered and grabbed a top item out the nearest bag, taking hold of a box of Hamburger Helper and placed it into one of the kitchen cabinets.
"You should get ready for your party this afternoon." She paced back and forth putting things away.
In some ways, I'm lucky to really have her. Who is there to cook dinner for me or to do my laundry, I joked. But my smile instantly lightened once those words came to mind.
What party was she talking about? I didn't plan one and most certainly she would never allow me to have one. My head shot up to her and when she closed the refrigerator and lifted up to turn around to a cold face expression of mine.
"You did not," I angrily snapped from the opposite side of the counter than her.
How could she do this to me?
"I invited some friends over, your 16th birthday is a very special time. Heck, turning 16, in general, is a very special time but this is different," she sighed then her genuine smile dropped from happy to serious. "But there is something I have to tell you."
The doorbell suddenly rang. I jump in surprise, turning to face the blurred glass window. The only person who could have come this morning was Emma. Mr. Drunk Step Dad had houses to build at this time.
I turned my head, facing the woman in front of me. But her face softened. "Never mind," she said. "It can wait for another time."
I stride off, my goal, opening the front door.
There was nothing more I hated than having a serious talk. All mom had in mind, was to tell me is how my body will change and things that I have already had gone through. You'd think a 16-year-old female would know about her own body.
I'm sixteen, I thought. Where did all that time go?
While still on my way to the door, I had the sudden urge of being aggressive. Aggressiveness was the only thing biting at my mind but also the strength that shot through my arms like electricity. But that didn't stop me from finally opening the door. Still holding onto the doorknob, I looked up to see Emma, my trusted and only friend since a year ago, fiddling with her shirt and a bag of supplies in her other hand. I so much wanted to slam the door because she and Mom had gone behind my back to plan me an event that I didn't even want. But the feeling of betrayal cut me deeper than the party being planned itself. The expression on her face showed she knew I would be mad. The fiddling with her shirt said she was nervous to come up here.
"Look I'm sorry," Emma exploded with sorrow. "Your mother wanted to do something special for your birthday. She came up with the idea of a party but I told her that you didn't like surprises and somehow the woman convinced me."
Her face dreaded of tense feelings. I rolled my eyes turning my heels and opened the door wide for her to enter. There was no way I was going to attend this party. Instead, I'm just going to stay locked in my room and play music to drown the noise of my mom pounding on the door for me to come out.
Emma walked herself to the kitchen where Mom was now adding eggs to the cake mixture. I slammed the door shut, picking up my bat and headed back to my room. As I entered, I looked up to see a navy blue dress laid out on my purple rearranged bedspread. I dropped the bat in place.
Guessing on the length, the dress at least came up 5 inches from my knees. The sides cut off would show a little skin around my waist. Bits of sizable fake diamonds surrounded the top part of the dress, including the strapless curve of the breast area, until it reached the lining of the second. The second part, hung loose like a ballerina's tutu except for more dress like. Matching heels which had stings wrapping its way up to 2 inches above my ankle, sat beside the tempting and beautiful dress. Mom must have slipped it in here while I was mean mugging Emma. I was impressed that the fact she knew exactly what I wanted for my future prom dress. I did feel a bit guilty for thinking about letting a dress such as this, go to waste. She must have really wanted my birthday this year to be special and I was going to reward her with more grey hairs and beaten up hands, right after all of this. I sighed and let the woman have what she intended for me to do. To party.
I made my way to the family bathroom and took a soothing bath with varieties of scented salts and scented liquid soap then slid the dress over my soft textured body and put on unseeable shorts for the secrecy of letting no one know I was on my period. I then struggled to put my heels on. Walking back to the bedroom, I stopped in front of the body sized mirror, deeply staring at myself. I looked different from the last time looking in the mirror. I didn't know what it was but something definitely changed. I held my breath as the noise of music and people muttering became louder. Of course, Emma would have brought her snobbiest friends.
While she thought of other people, she still thought of herself, almost to the point I'm sick of it. I quickly put on a little eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. I rushed and braided the sides of my hair then put it all in a bun. To top it off I wrapped a violet colored ribbon around my neck and attached it in the back. I was never the one to put on a bunch of makeup. I hated parties. I never got invited to them except for once and that memory was... it sucked.
I quickly walked to the entrance way that separated the hall from my room and closed the door, locking it behind me, making sure no one was in here with me then opened the door to my closet. Scooting my old junk such as my old high tops and slid my fingers along the old torn wallpaper leading as the shape of a tiny door. I reached my nails deeply in the creases of the broken wall and pulled out the slide of wood, leaving a small hole.
Back when I said my dad made my life miserable after he died, well there's a lot more to the story. He was very prepared, not the end of the world prepared. Really, I didn't know what he was preparing me and my sister for. He taught me and my twin very well. Mom didn't mind as long as we didn't take our fighting skills to school but she never knew Dad had bought us both weapons, she wouldn't have allowed it. I scanned my guns and collections of knives. Each had a story but I wondered if any of the girls my age had at least a knife or anything to protect themselves, but not every teenage girl had a drunken dad who taught them the arts of Judo and Boxing or bought them guns which are illegal in the hands of a 16-year-old in Arizona. I always felt different from the rest of the girls at school, they were all purses and shoes. I'm the same but just a slightly darker version of those girls when it comes to shopping. Scanning the different types of knives with my fingers, I stopped upon the knife my dad got me when I was just 6-years-old. We were sitting on our porch in our old cabin. We looked up at all the horses scattering to the barn as a man drenched in a thick red liquid which I was too small to realize what that actually meant. I still don't but that was a small strange story at the back of my head. One of many.
Daddy didn't look at all surprised. He told me he had made me something. He was always an excellent Wielder, made all sorts of knives and swords but the knife he gave me had a special marking just like all the other knives he wielded and threw downstairs for safekeeping, waiting to use them for god knows what instead of selling them to small stores around the state like he usually does.
The carving was of a New Orleans Saints logo. Something told me deep down that the symbol wasn't just any symbol. It stood for something much more darker. The huge knife sat in my tiny hands but stood as a normal sized knife in my hands 10 years later as my father began to lift my small frail body off his lap, 10 years back.
"We have to talk," the blood-soaked man said. I searched the dented area where the symbol was burrowed into and touched the very end of the blade. Thinking back to it, my dad was pretty crazy to give me a knife at that age.
Dad always liked to go deer hunting with his friends, it got so worse that he used to come home covered in blood. But it kept us fed for a lot of winters. The knife wasn't special just because my dad gave it to me but also because he made it in my favorite color.
The blade part had pink silvery streaks going through it and was attached with a dark red handle that now fit my hands perfectly. After a while, the red man began to show up at our door more and more. But Dad always told us not to open it or to invite him in but to go get him before thinking so. I always hated people telling me what to do but I always followed my dad's words. After he did what he did right before he died, I could never forgive him now.
Snapping back to reality, I lift my dress then squat. I snatched the knife holder and fastened it around my upper thigh so that it was unpredictable. I slid the knife my dad gave me in its little pouch and raised myself to my feet patting the ends to my dress down. Bending the middle piece of the lining that separates the top layer and bottom layer, I stuff in a pocket knife. I always bring back up and backups for my main back up.
I hated to ruin something so pretty but after all, I am my dads' daughter. I put the top onto the box and settled it back inside and closed the opening of the wall with the missing piece then confidently walk out the door, constantly trying not to trip over my own feet. I looked straight down the hallway which led to the view of the living room where boys and girls all danced together. Who would wanna come to an anti-social girls', small birthday party? Especially to one which didn't serve up any alcoholic beverages.
None of them I knew except for a few girls I saw in the hallways at school. Emma was the only teen who now existed in my life.
The sound of popular pop music hit my ears like the feeling of deep pressure of being underwater for so long. The lights were dimmed and Emma struggled to get the rest of the decorations up. I didn't expect for so many people to be here for my birthday but of course, Emma had her ways. She was a model and role model all at the same time. She had the perfect blonde hair, as for me, I only had brown hair. While she went out to fashion shoots, I surround myself with chips and ice cream. She had her whole life planned out and I didn't plan the next few minutes clipping my toenails but I did it anyway. We were like totally different people but I guess with her wanting to be me and me wanting to be in her position really sets the board evenly. That's why we get along so easily.
I always had a safe place in her heart. I stopped at the end of the hallway and held my breath as I entered the big crowd of dancing hooligans and then finally moved forward, pushing people aside to get to Emma who was trying to bend down and grab a piece of tape from the coffee table while trying to hold the sign that said 'Happy Birthday,' above the fireplace. Interrupting her moment of personal struggle I jumped in and picked up the tape for her.
"Thanks," she shouted, smiling brightly. I returned the smile back. "You look...wow." Her eyes observed me then taped the edges of the sign and returned her focus back at me. Of course, Emma looked dashing, since when is she ever not. I was jealous of her. Her whole world evolved around makeup and dresses especially the short yellow one she wore at the moment but her short yellow tights stopped anyone from looking up it. She jumped down from the ladder and raised her head.
"Where did the dress come from," Emma asked, eyeing me head to toe. I rarely wore dresses, I'd rather wear something more closed like shorts or jeans in the meantime but like I said, the dress was tempting.
"Mom got it for me. Well, it was laying on my bed to be exact."
She raised an eyebrow and angled her head sideways.
"Hmm, I don't remember her saying anything about a dress, maybe it's apart of the surprise party. Speaking of surprises, I have a surprise waiting for you in the garage."
She grabbed my hands and dragged me through the crowd which surprisingly she got through easily.
Sure, move out of the way for the model but you force the birthday girl to push her way through, I hatefully thought. I'm getting ignored at school and now I'm getting ignored at my own house.
Walking through the kitchen, different varieties of food were placed on the kitchen counters. I moved my eyes from the counter to the table which held a cake lit with candles. Its was the prettiest cake I ever saw and I saw plenty of her cakes in my life.
Mom use to bake things and then send them off for extra pocket money when Dad and Delilah died. Those were one of the darkest periods in the past, Mom and I struggled with. We barely had anything in the fridge, the last house was falling apart, and so were we. I found Mom crying in the kitchen at night and smothering her face with a bowl of ramen noodles while I sat alone in my room as usual but the only difference was that I was a different person. I was constantly angry and desolated. I felt alone in the world like I was surrounded with an infant supply of water which there is no way of climbing back to the top. I was stuck chained to the bottom drowning and drowning of depression. I would give anything to not go back to that place again. Maybe Mom felt the same thing, just as I did. It crushed us both from the inside, out.
Maybe Mom did find love with my step father instead of using him for his money. After all, it did take three years, why not have done it sooner. What if all the misery, hard work, and pain paid off. It shaped us into who we are and what we do now. I use to think it was all about me and it took losing someone for me to notice, I'm not the only who matters. Oh, how life works in mysterious ways.
I let Emma's unusual cold hands lead me out the kitchen door and into the garage. Moms' car was still parked outside. Emma came to a complete stop and turned her attention at me.
"Close your eyes," she smiled, searching for something in her purse. I gently closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I said, meaning for it to be an apology.
"For what," she asked with a hint of concern in her voice.
"For throwing me a party, I knew you and Mom meant for it to be a fun opportunity to make other friends."
She slightly laughed with amusement which I found weird given that this was a serious conversation that neither of us liked.
"My damn pleasure."
I suddenly felt a shock of electricity hit below my ribs. I instantly open my eyes at Emma who was holding a Taser to my stomach. I stared at her in fright and defeat as my body, tensed up and fell to the floor, still clutching my stomach. I desperately muttered the word, 'why'. She faced me emotionlessly till the blackness swallowed me whole.