Where It All Began
Warning: This story contains abuse. Please stop reading if this triggers you. And remember I do not condone any sort of violence. This is just a story. Thank you
Ugh. I woke up in bed to the sound of my alarm clock screeching like a fan girl at a Justin Bieber concert. Sitting up, I smacked it silly and threw it onto the floor, making it shut up in the process. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes not wanting to get out of bed, but I knew I had to if I didn't want to get into trouble. Making my way over to my dresser I grabbed panties, a bra, some black leggings, and an old t-shirt covered in blood stains.
Thank goodness it's not a school day. If I have to go through one more day of my best friend, Alora, asking me where all my cuts and bruises come from, I am going to lose it. I've never told her the real reason because I don't want her getting involved. But at the same time I hate lying to her. If she knew, I would be in so much trouble. By her and my father. But it's the weekend right now so I don't have to worry about it. Yet.
I went to the bathroom to take a shower and looked at the clock on the wall. Shit. I only had 30 minutes to get ready and make breakfast for dad. I turned on the water and got in, not caring that the water was freezing cold. I washed my body with my favorite coconut scented body wash, and washed my hair with my strawberry scented shampoo and conditioner. And I don't have time to shave so I guess I'll do that later.
I turned off the water, ringed out my wet hair, and wrapped myself up in a clean towel. Once I was completely dry I ran into my room to get dressed. I looked at the clock to see how much time I had left, oh thank goodness. 20 minutes, which should be just the right amount of time to make breakfast.
Running down the stairs trying by best not to fall, I put my hair in a ponytail. I ran into the kitchen, heading towards the fridge to get everything I needed. Once I had everything I turned on the burner and put the frying pan on the stove. After I got started making breakfast, I started humming a random song in my head, hoping to pass the time. But I got so distracted I hadn't noticed the acrid burning smell in the air. Oh no. I burnt the bacon. Dad's gonna kill me, maybe he won't notice? I'll just throw them away, so I don't get into trouble. I mean he already has pancakes, eggs, sausage, and hash browns. He won't even miss it.
The front door opened just as I had put his plate down. Thank goodness I was done in time. But still I feel like I'm forgetting something. His beer!
I could hear his boots stomping on the floor in the living room as I ran to the fridge. I had to move things around a bit before I finally found one. I ran back to the table just in time for him to enter the kitchen. I think I'm safe.
"Why are you at the table? I thought I told you, you had to stand by the fridge!" My father yelled at me as he took a seat at the table.
"I-i couldn't find t-the beer. S-sir." I whispered back to him, trying not to look at his cold blooded eyes.
"Speak up! And look at me when I talk to you! Do you understand?" He yelled with so much hatred in his voice.
Looking up at him, I tried my best to talk with as much confidence as I could. "Yes s-sir." He nodded for me to go stand by the fridge as he got ready to eat.
Looking at the floor as I stood there patiently, waiting to be dismissed, I remembered about the bacon. I looked up just in time to see my father getting up from the table. He marched over to where I was standing with so much anger in his eyes. I tried backing away from him, but luck was not on my side as my back met the cold metal of the refrigerator.
"Where the fuck is my bacon bitch?!" He spit in my face.
"I-i burnt it on a-accident." I whimpered out, and winced when I felt a stinging sensation on my cheek as my head turned to look to the right.
I looked back at my father before he grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the stove. He placed my hand on the burner and he turned on the fire. Tears formed in my eyes as the fire seemed to swallow up my hand, creating a burn that was sure to leave a mark.
After a few seconds of this torture I tried to force his hand off of me so my hand wouldn't burn off. But all that got me was three more slaps to the face.
"P-please. Please stop! I won't do it again. I promise." I cried as the pain became even more unbearable. I pulled my hand out of his grip when he turned the fire off. Holding it close to my chest, hoping to ease the pain. "You're damn right you won't do it again. Now go do your chores." He commanded as he walked towards the front door to leave.
"I'll be gone all day. And remember, next time I won't be so forgiving." And with that he left without saying another word.
I run back up the stairs once I heard his car leave the driveway. When I got to the bathroom I pushed the door open making it slam against the wall. Hoping that it didn't leave a mark so I would be in even more trouble, I got to the sink and turned on the faucet. Once the water was all the way cold, I put my hand under. Hissing at the sting in my hand. I kept it under the water for a few more seconds so it would stop the pain a bit more.
I took it out from under the water, grabbed a clean towel, and dried my hand. Trying to be careful around the blisters that had formed. After my hand was dry I grabbed some petroleum jelly to put on, and a bandage to cover it. It stilled burned and the pain was still insufferable, but it will heal.
Because I had finished with that, I now had to do all of my chores before dad came home. If I don't finish them before he gets back tonight, I'm sure to get a beating. Now I bet you're probably wondering why my own father treats me this badly so I'll tell you. Let's start from the beginning.
My name is Lana Ramirez and I'm 18 years old. I also have an asshole of a father that hates my guts. If you couldn't already tell. My mom and dad were happily married and loved each other so much. And when my mom became pregnant with me, they were even happier and couldn't wait.
Nine months go by and my mom went into labor. But because of some complications, my mom died while giving birth. They managed to save me, but it was too late for my mom. A few weeks later and my dad started drinking. Anywho. Fast forward ten years later and he started to beat me and call me names. He would always say that it was my fault that mom died. And that I deserved to die. Which I started to believe.
I started to cut myself in hopes that I would die, I stopped trying to fight back whenever dad would beat me, and I stopped caring about myself. But eventually I stopped, and it was because of my best friend Alora. When I met her in fifth grade I knew instantly that we were going to be best friends. She is not only my number one best friend, she my sister and I love her like one. She always has my back and goes along with everything that I say or do. I wouldn't want her to go through that kind of pain.
But what about my pain. If I died I wouldn't be in pain, I would be able to see my mom, dad would be happy, and I would be free.
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