A thick fog settles. Nothing but gigantic trees surround me. With an upward glance, I realize I can't tell if it's night or morning. A canopy of branches covers the sky. A shiver crawls down my spine. I force my feet to move, fallen leaves crush underneath my boots.

A shriek from afar causes me to halt. I spin and scan to spot the source, but to no avail. Footsteps echo in the eerily quiet forest, with each passing second the thudding gets louder and faster.

Fear kicks aside the terror that had frozen my limbs.

I sprint.

Deeper and deeper into the woods, the trees and bushes grow in numbers, making it impossible to race in a straight line.

The muddy ground slows me down, the lower branches cut my skin as I run from the thundering footsteps. I ignore the unpleasant stings caused by them.

The footfall no longer seems to come from one direction, nor does it belong to a single person.

My legs carry me of their own accord. But I don't know where I am heading to, nor do I have anywhere to go. I'm lost.

Rapid breaths wheeze in and out of me. My muscles hurt, but I keep on running.

My foot catches in an odd root, risen above the uneven earth. The momentum hurls me to the ground. Pain shoots up my arms and knees.

Monstrous howls ring and reverberate. I shudder. I'm going to die. Tears blur my view. I clamp my hands over my ears as a sob escapes my lips.

Dark mist encircles me in a whirlwind, I struggle to breathe.

A deformed man walks through the smoke and stands in front of me. Sharp canine teeth, and he has razor-like claws, his shoulders are hunched as he encloses me.

I gape while he takes me in, sizing me up as if weighing if his prey was worth the effort.

He has my dad's eyes.

That's the final thing I notice before he launches towards me.

I jerk awake and jump into a sitting position.

My body trembles as I pant, my heart drums in my chest.

It was a dream. Just a nightmare.

I look around, frantically.

The unfamiliar surrounding doesn't help. Wooden floor, the pale curtains are drawn, and the cream-colored walls are bare. A small wardrobe is in the corner, its color faded due to years of usage.

I focus on my breathing. My head pounds, my heartbeat echoes in my skull.

The sound of a loud snore startles me. I peek at my side. A middle-aged man on the other end of the bed is in deep slumber. His round and huge belly prevents him to sleep entirely on his stomach.

Last night's memories crash down on me.

Three shots of vodka in the bar I visit every night. This guy approaching me, his large meaty hands groping me. The expected question, your place or mine, followed by my usual answer, yours. The sickening sense of his mouth crashing on mine fills my mind.

Bile rises in the back of my throat.

I shake my head and shove aside the rest of the night's memory.

I push away the duvet, the cold air instantly prickles my exposed skin. My feet land on the wooden floorboard. I run my palm up and down my forearm as I rise. In nimble movements, I gather my clothes from the ground.

As quietly as I can, I wear them and leave the place.

Three flights of stairs later and I'm finally out, the chilly morning embraces me. I wrap my jacket tighter around my thin frame, as the breeze ruffles my unruly hair. I set down the sidewalk while scanning the area to catch a familiar name that would tell me where I am.

The alleys are too quiet, with my steps echoing as they hit the asphalt. My fingers tremble.

For the past two, almost three years, I've spent my nights and the following mornings like now. Yet it still unnerves me.

Unfamiliar places make me uneasy. So do the familiar ones.

I draw in a sharp breath to calm my thundering heart. I wiggle out my arm from my rucksack's strap and rummage for my phone, desperately hoping no one has stolen it.

To my great relief, I find it in the depths of the bag and pull it out. The time reads, 5:30. That explains why no one's out. I feel ridiculous about getting anxious.

I sigh and press the map icon to figure out where I am. In lesser than two hours, I must reach home if I don't want to miss school.

Four months, and I'll be free.

For four more months, I have to survive through this hell. Until I graduate from high school and turn eighteen. An adult and capable of leaving everything behind to start over.

I drive my hand through my hair and stay in a corner as I navigate the shortest route to home.

Home.

Ironic.

Can that four walls with a roof on top ever be called home? Cage sounds more fitting.

After making sure of the way I have to go, I return my phone into my backpack and tread through the empty streets and alleyways of early morning Chicago.

Forty-five minutes later, after a few bus stops, I arrive at the station near my house and climb out of the bus.

I walk down the block and in a matter of minutes, I'm in front of my house's building. Old, with bricks that used to be white ages ago make up the structure, the grass of the lawn has overgrown too. I scan the windows; the curtains are drawn, perhaps he's asleep.

Maybe my luck will look up to me, and I won't have to encounter him today.

I chew my bottom lip as I cross the small paved path leading to the stairs. I ascend the five steps and stand before the door.

My fingers fidget of their own accord as I seek to detect a sound from the inside.

It's quiet.

Maybe today is my lucky day.

With ease, I bend and retrieve the key lying underneath the doormat and unlock the door.

I tiptoe into the house and shut the door as quietly as I can. The lights are off; I survey the place. The limited view I have from the living area ensures he is not there.

I allow a small smile to curve my lips.

I pad along the corridor, making my way to my room.

"Where were you, Astrid?" he booms.

I halt. My stomach drops as my heartbeat speeds up.

Shit.

Hesitantly I turn and there he stands in front of the door, glowering at me. A yellow patch stains his white shirt. His eyes are bloodshot, lines of aging combine with the creases of his drawn eyebrows. His graying hair is greasy and disheveled.

I gulp down the gathered saliva in my mouth as I struggle to find my voice.

"I asked, where were you?" he thunders and I flinch.

He nears me with long strides and clutches my upper arm, jerking me to himself. Scotch's scent mixed with sweat assaults my nostrils.

"You worthless slut," he shouts.

"Dad," I whimper as he drags me to the living room.

"You live under my roof, who allowed you to sneak around like a filthy rat?" he barks, his grip tightening on me. "I waste my money on food and crap to fill your stomach and keep a roof over you. And you don't even respect me as your father, you ungrateful bitch," he fumes and lets go of me. "You won't learn like this. This time I'll make sure you won't be able to forget your punishment."

The next thing I know is his hand crashing on my face. Blinding pain courses through my skull, the force is so strong it throws me off balance, knocking me to the floor. My knees and palms throb at the contact.

Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away, but before I get the chance to gather myself, his foot comes hurtling towards me and kicks me hard in my stomach.

I cry in agony as I fall back.

His every strike is more powerful than the previous one as he keeps on kicking my abdomen.

I try to cover myself with my hands. I beg him to stop, but it all falls to deaf ears.

He crouches beside me and grips my wrists tightly with one hand and continues to hit me with his free one. Slapping and striking any part within his reach as I bleed and plead for my life.

After what feels like forever, when no longer a single part of my body is left that doesn't ache, he stops and grasps my shoulders.

He pulls me up into a seating position. "I will kill you if you disobey me like that. You're a useless piece of shit, worse than your mom, and I won't stop next time. Get that inside your thick skull," he spits.

The back of his hand collides with my cheek. The room swims before my eyes, the pain is unbearable.

He pushes himself to his feet, I barely keep myself upright.

"What did I do to deserve you good for nothing as my kid? Damn you and your bitch of a mother. You two fucking whores ruined my life," he bellows.

I curl my hands into fists, my fingernails dig into my palms as I hold his gaze with all the hatred I can muster.

I hate you.

He staggers before he turns and walks away. A banging sound cracks the silence, signaling he has returned to his room.

Hot tears stream down my face.

Each breath I draw is in anguish. I don't know for how long I'll be able to bear it. I crawl to the coffee table and rest my head on its cool glass. It soothes my swollen skin.

What did I do to deserve this from my father? Whatever I do, he always finds an excuse to raise his voice and hand on me.

I hate him.

I loathe myself for not being able to stand up for myself. For never being able to defend myself. For never defending my mother.

Powerless and out of control.

I hate this life.

With tremendous effort, I push myself to my feet, barely maintaining my balance.

I stumble to my room, using the wall for support. Careful not to be loud, I slowly shut the door and drop my rucksack next to the foot of my bed. The white walls stand in stark contrast to my mood. The bed in the corner seems lonely. It's useless too, I can count the nights I've slept on it on my fingers. But I cannot tell how many times I have been in strangers' beds. Light seeps in from the rising sun through my faded curtains.

A new day. A promise of countless unexpected sufferings.

I drag myself to the bathroom and strip out of my clothes. Aching and trembling, I step into the shower and turn on the faucet.

The lukewarm water touches my skin and I flinch before steeling myself against it. For a while, I attempt to ignore the stinging of my wounds as the water runs down my frame. I start with the usual routine and try not to note my awful form and the bruise patches peppered across my body.

After finishing, I wrap the towel around myself. With careful strides, I walk out and choose a grey baggy shirt, two sizes bigger than me, and black leggings.

I swiftly wear them and return to the washroom. I pick up my makeup bag from the container before wiping away the fog settled on the mirror. As I take in my reflection, I draw a sharp breath.

Bruises are forming. One is on the left side of my forehead and the other is beneath my right eye. My bottom lip is chapped, and my left cheek has a reddish tint from his slap. Dark circles underneath my dull, sapphire blue eyes. Where it's not covered in bruises, my skin is sickly pale. My brown hair is no help either, emphasizing the unhealthy shade.

Tears prickle my eyes, a whirlwind of anger, shame, and hatred consumes me. My fingers tremble as I shudder.

I hate being weak. What did I do to deserve this? But I don't know anything other than being weak. A victim.

I detest the fact that a single word defines my entire being.

I clutch the sink to steady myself, closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing to calm myself.

Life is a prolonged pain with no escape. To hope a day would be brighter than the previous one is sheer stupidity. This world, along with its people, is not black and white, it's pure black. The stygian so deep, it takes over and suffocates the ones who are unlike it, painting them obsidian too.

I open my eyes and begin applying makeup to the bruises, concealing them the best I can.

Done with masking my features with a coat of chemical products, I dry my hair and let it be as it is. Half of my face is hidden beneath a veil of curls, as usual.

I don't need anyone to know my circumstances.

Four more months and it'll be over.

I repeat to myself while popping a painkiller. I swallow it and head out of the bathroom.

With swift movements, I pick my rucksack and scan the hallway. His door is closed, perhaps he is still in there. I really don't want to encounter him again.

A sharp intake of breath helps me gather my courage and I move towards the entrance door.

To my relief, he's nowhere to be seen. I leave the house and make my way to school.

The day has barely started and I can't wait for it to be over.

Thank you for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it.

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