Life's tough, I knew that ever since I was born. I could remember my parents shouting at each other, cussing up as storm as I lay sleeplessly in my bed night after endless night. I had to bite my lip till it bled to stop from screaming out in frustration at the fact that I could do nothing about this. When I turned eight I knew my father was coming home drunk every night, beating my mom after a few minutes of them yelling at each other.

I remembered back to when I was eight and had walked in on one of their arguments as I lay thoroughly in pain on the floor of this retched closet.


I got up from my slumber when I felt the need to go to the bathroom, but then I heard my mother pacing the floor so I turned to the living room instead.

"Charlie!" my mom yelled quietly as my daddy came stomping in the door, his footing seemed off balanced and I could tell just from his expression he was drunk. I knew what drunk looked like because of the D.A.R.E program's visit to my school not only a week ago. They had talked about drinking and I had listened very, very carefully. "Why are you home so late?!" my mother yelled at about the same level of volume, maybe quieter, as he shut the door with a bang.

"None of your fucking business bitch!" my daddy screeched somewhat slurred as he trudged towards mommy. He had the angriest expression on his face and my mom coward away from him but held her ground in an attempt of bravery.

"Now Charlie, can you please keep it down. Bella is finally asleep. I'm sorry I yelled at you." my mom pleaded quietly and I could tell she was truly sorry, she looked so scared.

Charlie's hand shot out and slapped her across the face, causing her to stumble backwards from the impact. "Don't you go apologizing you stupid whore! Who gives a fuck about Bella?!" he yelled as he grabbed a handful of my mother's beautiful auburn hair and slung her so hard against a wall she actually made a dent in the hard concrete.

She fell limply to the floor, her head appeared to have a large gash in it. The blood was flowing steadily but my father didn't seem to care. He kicked her ribs three more times before collapsing, passed out, on the couch.

After that, I raced from the scene not looking back as I ran into my room, locking the door behind me. I was so shocked I couldn't even think, I just collapsed on my bed and cried out my eyes.

End of Flashback

That was the last night I saw my mom... alive that is. I shuddered at the resurfaced memory as I tried pushing it to the back of my mind where I mentally built a thick brick wall around it.

My body ached everywhere from the places where Charlie had kicked me, which was every spot on my body. Yes, I'm abused by my father. He puts me in this closet whenever he doesn't want to see me or feel like beating me. He blames me for what happened to my mom, and I take full responsibility. He says I'm the reason he came home every night drunk and had no idea of what he was doing to my mother. He still loves her, I knew that from his beatings. I knew I deserved this, I hated myself for killing my mother. I hated myself for a being a nuisance to my dad. I hated myself in general and embraced the pain he gave me.

I was broken from my thoughts as the knob to the closet was unlocked and twisted. The door swung open and the bright light blinded me momentarily, but they adjusted easily.

Charlie looked down at me with an enraged smirk as he saw my limp body laying on the floor. "Get up you slutty whore!" he yelled at me, grabbing a fistful of my long chestnut hair, effectively pulling out a few strands as he yanked me to my feet. "How dare you not obey me!" he shrieked in outrage as he dragged me from the dark cramped space.

I had to bite my lip to hold in the tears I felt were about to come. He threw me up against the wall and I slid painfully to the floor. A small whimper escaped my lips and a single solitary tear ran down my cheek. I immediately knew I had made a huge mistake as his eyes widened in outrage.

"Did you just start crying!?" he screamed in my face, slapping it very hard in the process. "Did you!?" he yelled expecting an answer quick, when I didn't give one immediately his fist made contact with my gut, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"I'm sorry Charlie! I didn't mean too!" I cried apologetically trying to also hold in the screams of pain I felt building in my throat.

"Don't apologize bitch! You're just like your fucking mother!" I knew he only used the cuss word with my mom in the sentence was because he hated that I was so much like her, it made him miss her more.

He grabbed my already sprained wrist and gave it one good twist, breaking it to uselessness.

This time I could not help the cry of pain from escaping my lips. His eyes grew wide at my outcry. "Does this hurt?" he asked in such soothing tone he scared the hell out of me. He continued twisting my wrist, I could feel the nerves straining not to break.

Silent tears ran down my sore face as I felt the nerves responding to the odd sensation of my wrist being twisted, I couldn't even begin to explain the pain. It felt as if a thousand knives were being pressed into my wrist. I nodded my head.

He punched my gut once more then stood, yanking my broken wrist up so I was forced to stand. "Now, go make my dinner before I get really angry." he muttered menacingly into my ear then trudged off a bit unsteadily to the living room collapsing on the couch, he grabbed one of the beers from the sixteen pack he had set beside the couch and turned on the TV to ESPN where a football game was just beginning.

With a bit of struggle I forced my feet to move towards the kitchen, hugging my broken wrist to my stomach as to not jostle it much and trying to douse the throbbing pain. I didn't blame Charlie for this pain, I knew I was responsible for everything he did to me.

I opened the fridge and had to get all the ingredients for baked chicken and rice one handed, causing for many trips from the fridge to the counter by the stove. After the chicken and rice were finished I put it on a plate, grabbed a fork and knife, and brought it to the living room for Charlie. I sat it on the coffee table, where he always ate on the weekend and it was Sunday, and waited for him to try it. I hoped deeply that he would so I would be able to take a shower and sleep in my own bed.

He took a bite and I held my breath. He chewed agonizingly slow before swallowing. "It's good slut, now get out of my sight." he growled digging in.

"Thank you Charlie." I said appreciatively before hurrying up the stairs to my bedroom, also trying to avoid falling in my rush. I was naturally very clumsy. I opened my door and went to grab some sweat pants and a shirt. I went down the hall to the bathroom and I could hear his snores from up here. I sat the clothes on the counter and rushed downstairs to clean up the mess. I knew if I did not then he would beat me harder tomorrow. I threw the beer cans into the recycling bin and picked up a fallen lamp. After the many cans were removed I grabbed his plate and washed it.

I knew how much Charlie hated it when I ate in front of him so I always waited for him to be asleep or gone before I ate. Even when I did eat I never at more than maybe a stale piece of bread. I had once ate some of his real food and... well, let's just say it didn't turn out too good.

But it was too late, the memory had made itself apparent in my mind.


I raided the fridge after a long day of school before Charlie was home. I was starving so I grabbed some leftover mac and cheese and popped it into the microwave. I scarfed it down and prepared Charlie's dinner. I was making his favorite, Harry Clearwater's Fish Fry.

Charlie was just pulling up just as I sat his dinner on the dinning room table. He came in and sat down before his meal. He took a bite and nodded his head in approval, a grin actually spread across his face and he looked like my dad again.

It was very rare that this happened, but whenever I made his favorite meal I was never beaten and he allowed me to share his meal. I immediately feel guilty for gorging on the mac and cheese now.

When he offered I graciously declined. He looked hurt for a split second then his expression turn to one of malicious anger.

"Why the HELL not?!" he demanded of me, getting from his seat and moving closer to me.

God, why hadn't I just said yes?! "I-um-well-I was hungry when I-um-came home so I had some of the leftover mac and cheese..." I trailed off nervously for his face had turned red in anger. "Charlie?" I asked nervously. He had never looked like this before.

"You ATE you stupid fucking whore!!!" he growled, enraged.

The force of his rage caused me to stagger back so I was leaning against the wall. He was up in my face in a split second and had me pinned to the wall.

"What the HELL were you thinking!!!" he yelled right in my face, alcoholic prominent on his breath. "You were just going to help yourself to MY food after what you have done to me! You took away my fucking Renee!!!" He was really mad, he never cussed in the same sentence as mommy's name unless he was really mad.

"I'm sorry Charlie! I-I-I wasn't thinking!" I tried to cover up my little mishap with an apology as always, and as always it just made him angrier. But it was simply my nature to apologize, I couldn't help that.

Suddenly I felt a searing pain in my private area. I screamed out of pure pain. He slapped me hard right across the face and punched my gut. He took a hold on my upper arms and twisted them so the fell out of socket. I cried out again as he repeatedly did this, popping them out then in. It was too much to hands and I blacked out.

End of Flashback

I successfully pushed the horrid memory and locked it up like the first. I shivered from the remembrance and it took everything in me to remember I was walking up stairs and to be careful of my footing. I made it up the stairs and into the bathroom. I stripped down to my underthings, embracing the pain it gave me to do so, and looked at the damage from the full length mirror.

Every inch of my body had some sort of mark on it. On my arm there was one long, irritated looking scar from where Charlie had sliced it with a plate I accidentally dropped. He had taken a shattered piece and made a long mark from my shoulder to my now-broken wrist.

I sighed, what would I do about the wrist? It's my writing hand and it's completely immobile. I have school tomorrow! How in god's name am I supposed to cover this up? Without a brace or any proof of a doctor's visit.

With another worried sigh I stepped into the warm water of the shower. I tried pretty successfully to bathe myself single-handedly, so I was pretty proud of myself.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day, I could sense it.