A/N: Hey initiates! This will probably be a one-shot. Unless anyone wants me to write more. If you do, than review please!

~Nathalie

My father and I were sitting silently at the dinner table. I stared down at my plate, using my fork to twiddle with my peas.

"Tobias," my father said tensely. I instantaneously looked up to meet his dark, angry eyes and furrowed eyebrows. "You eat food. You do not play with it."

I subtly nodded as fear coursed through my body. Shakily, I reached my hand out to grab my glass of milk. As I brought it up to my mouth, I spilled it, soaking my shirt and pants. My cheeks heated up and I became even more nervous.

Father slowly stood up, throwing his napkin onto the table. "That is the second time this week that you spilled your milk," he said deceivably calm. I stared at his waist and watched as his fingers skillfully begin to undo his belt. "You need to learn."

I quickly stood up, and darted out of the dining room. I clumsily ran up the stairs.

"Tobias!" Father said furiously as he swiftly scurried after me. "What do you think you are doing?"

I tried to pick up my speed, only to trip on one of the stairs. I landed on my ankle with a thud. Stinging surged through my foot, but I ignored it and stood up. I sprinted towards my room. I shut the door behind me. My fingers were shaking as I tried to lock the door, but he was already opening it. I put both of my hands in front of me and pushed at the door, attempting to keep him out, but he was stronger than me. He slammed the door open and it crashed me into the wall. I slid down the wall. He now was closing in on me, cornering me with his belt in hand.

"This is for your own good," he says wrathfully. My entire body was shaking now. I clenched my teeth and my fists.

He first struck my arm, just above the elbow. I screamed as pain materialized in my forearm. My bottom lip was trembling and my eyes were warm with looming tears.

"Stop," I begged him, but he kept striking me.

I groaned as he hit my stomach, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back tears.

He smacked my chest making me gasp for breath. My struggled pants transformed into desperate sobs.

My vision became blurry and distorted as my cheeks were battered.

I brought my hands up to protect my face and kicked my legs at his shins, striving to impede him, but it was no use. I discontinued my struggles, allowing him to destroy me.

I became accustomed to the agony, the fire seizing my entire body and my soul. It was predictable, rhythmic, just like breathing. It continued for was felt like months. Years.

Eventually, I felt the throbbing depart. I slightly opened my eyes and saw that he was nimbly putting the belt back around his waist. This did not relieve me, however. I knew what was coming next.

He scooped my up from the ground, putting his arms under my knees and my neck. I began to bang my fists on his neck, pleading for him to put me down, but he ignored me as he walked down the hallway. He sluggishly opened the door to our guest room, then the door to the shoe closet within that room. He carelessly threw me into the closet, my head and back slamming against the back wall of the tiny closet. I heard the click of a lock. I curled into a fetal position. The last thing I thought before I fell unconscious was: Please God. Please. Let me die.