(Edited)

Death was a concept I wouldnt want for anyone, no matter how horrible the person was. The point about death though it came knocking on my door; surprised I even got through it.

*Flashback*

I jiggled the keys into the keyhole and unlocked it. I walked into the house with no worries on my mind because once in two years, I was happy.

I stopped walking and stood still in the middle of the hallway, five feet away from the kitchen. I couldnt pinpoint what the unfamiliar feeling was, but something felt differently out of place. The whole house was incredibly dark; there was barely any light around me. My entire body was filled with Goosebumps and my hair stood on end. Something shattered on the floor behind me, causing my heart to jump five feet into the air.

My arm got pulled towards the right with brutal force before I could react. So many thoughts flew through my mind; whats happening, whos this and was I going to survive?

Maybe I could smash them with the glass vase, I thought looking around for a way out.

So many ideas were running around on how I could escape, while this person was dragging me. I could tell it was a man from the grip and strength in his hold. His fingers were digging into my arm, excessively hard. I could feel his nails tearing through the skin, and I couldnt help, but verbalize my pain.

Let me go! I screamed while thrashing around, tears rolling down my cheeks.

While I was thrashing around, I caught the face of the intruder, and my heartbeat slowed down a bit, it was my Foster dad. Ironic how I instantly calmed down when I realized it was him and not a random person. I was thrown down the stairs before the thought crossed my mind that I would get a beating. I landed in my favourite corner down in the basement.

My head struck hard against the concrete floor, and I lay still in pain, scared and exhausted. I lifted my trembling fingers and touched my throbbing scalp. Bringing my fingers down to eye level, I saw them coated in a red sticky fluid. Blood!

I looked around confused and grabbed onto my head; it was pounding with pain, and no number of painkillers would be able to take the soreness away. When I was satisfied that there was no one there, I slowly tried to stand up. First, I pushed myself up on my elbows and then on my knees, but I regretted the action instantaneously when I became dizzy, and the room started to spin all around me. I shook my head and took tiny breaths trying to get rid of the dizzy spell. I continued upwards and was one foot away from standing upright when my face met the cold concrete once more.

I groaned and grabbed onto my aching stomach; the pain was so bad. It was as if a bowling ball dropped on top of it. I struggled to breathe, and when I barely got some oxygen in my lungs; I got kicked in the back. I lay flat on the floor and gasped, reaching for air. Oxygen felt like a foreign concept to my lungs, like it never even existed.

They both kept on kicking me, repeatedly without stopping. I rolled over to protect my broken rib. My ribs ached; they felt like they were on fire, burning like an inferno. I didnt utter any sounds of protest since I landed in the basement, but I couldnt hold onto my pride anymore and screamed. I used the last bit of oxygen that was in me and let out all the pent-up pain and heartache. The kicking stopped, and I was pulled up from the ground by my hair. I held onto his arms and pushed myself up so the pain would lessen. Fat fingers grabbed onto my hair, pushing me up against the wall, my back smashing hard against it.

I yelled out in pain; dizziness flowed over me like water coming out of the showerhead. I felt nauseous and exhausted; I couldnt think straight. I was pressed hard against the wall, my feet dangling, he was choking me. His hands wrapped around my throat, not letting any oxygen come through. I held onto his hands, scratching him so he would let me go. I couldnt breathe, the light began to disappear around me, and blackness started to consume me.

Just before all my oxygen disappeared and I almost blacked out and possibly died, he let me go, and I fell to the ground with a loud thud. I clung so hard to the air around me, hoping, praying that I could breathe again.

Ive never in my life wanted to be dead so much as I wanted at that exact moment.

He grabbed me from the ground and started to punch me until I begged him to end it. Please, kill me? my voice came out hoarse.

He laughed evilly. Death is too good for you!

When those words left his mouth, my vision started to blur, and I blacked out.

*Flashback over*

After I woke up on the ground, I went straight to bed. I didnt clean myself up or put on new clothes. I didnt have the strength to do anything; I could barely breathe. I didnt go to school the following day; instead, I slept in with no care in the world. In the afternoon, I found the strength in me to stand up and go shower.

'If you call sitting on the floor and crying, a shower then yes,' Lilly commented.

I was in so much pain; I felt depressed and alone. I cried so much that my eyes were swollen shut, and I still had so many tears left in me. I took a few painkillers, but none of them subsided my pain. It felt like a billion electric shocks went through my entire body every time I moved. I really wanted to die. I cant believe I asked him to kill me. I just couldnt handle the pain anymore. I wished that I had a different life. That I had parents that loved and cared for me and never abused me.

Wednesday went precisely the same; I stayed at home, slept, cried, and didnt care about the things around me. My bruises were cleaned and patched up, but I didnt hide them because no one was here to see them. I was in bed all day and ignored all communication from the outside world. I didnt eat or drink water. I just laid and stared at the roof. Ive never felt so empty and unloved before, not even when I was back in Australia, where I did unspeakable things.

Here, I did nothing wrong, yet the world hated me. I had no one that could help me. I had Emily, maybe Ashton and Mason but they couldnt know about my situation. They couldnt do anything about it. I dont think I would want them to get involved. They were the only good thing I had left in my life, and I would like to keep it that way.

My phone had been ringing nonstop since Thursday. I hadnt gone to school in three days and today was Friday. I got more messages in these past three days than I ever had before: all saying more or less the same.

Emily: Where are you?

Emily: Is everything okay?

Emily: Did something happen?

Emily: Please answer me. Im worried!

Unknown number: Okay, so dont be angry, but I stole your phone and took your number. Its Mason btw.

Mason: Where are you? Is everything okay?

Unknown number: Hey, its Ashton.

Ashton: Are you okay?

Ashton: Im worried, please call me.

The rest of the messages said more or less the same along those lines. The last time I spoke to any of my friends was on Tuesday afternoon just before I got home; no wonder they were worried.

After reading all those messages and having a re-cap on how horrible life had been the past three days, I decided to get ready for school, because it was time to face the music. I couldnt hide in this room forever, even though I would if it was a possibility.

But could you blame me? Reality is waiting for me on the other side of that door and reality sucks, but I need to get back to the small number of friends that I have before I lose them.

On the other hand, my warm and cosy bed laid out a very solid case; if I stayed, I would be surrounded by warmth and a soft comforter that didnt want me dead. Although staying in bed wouldnt fix my messed-up life. Nothing could fix my messed-up life.

I slowly, but very determinedly, walked over to my closet and grabbed the first pair of jeans I saw, which happened to be black jeans, ripped at the knees. After discarding my pyjamas-pants, I put on my jeans and my black combat boot. I removed my shirt and walked up to the mirror, staring at my almost-naked form. My abdomen was livid from the bruising. Everywhere I looked was purple and blue, mixed in with some yellow from old bruises. But every single one hurt more than the last.

How exactly was I going to get healed up if a beating was around the corner? My ribs looked worse than they did on the evening that I went to the hospital; more like sneaked-in, because I couldnt let anyone find out about this. I have a few years of practice in the art of sneaking around without getting caught. The diagnosis was self-given, but I made sure that I had all the facts right; broken ribs.

I couldnt look at myself any longer without tears forming, so I grabbed a black Hoody from the hanger and with difficulty, I put it on. I never thought it would hurt so much to be battered and bruised, not even back in Australia where I did things that would get me looking like this. I could barely put on a freaking shirt without wanting to cry. I could barely breathe without wanting to cry. So what reason was there to go on when I couldnt find one?

Before leaving my bedroom, I grabbed a choker to hide the fingerprints on my neck from my foster dad trying to kill me. Ironic wasnt it? I used a necklace called a choker to hide the fact that I got choked. I have a great, sick sense of humour but with a life like mine, what do you expect?

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