Chapter 1 | Past Memories | Sensitivities May Be Involved
Chapter 1 | Past Memories | Sensitivities May Be Involved abuse stories

foxlilly106 Is it ever going to end?
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A girl who goes through abuse. (For my friend who suffered through abuse)

Chapter 1 | Past Memories | Sensitivities May Be Involved



I could hardly breathe as I heard the creak of the stairs. Daddy was coming up again. I knew he'd have his choice of torture with him. It's leather worn down after its many uses.

His brutal mood plastered to his ugly face. Just as it always was. I never managed to come upstairs unnoticed. No matter how hard I tried, he'd always hear me.

"I know you're here Calli," Daddy spit as he walked into my room. I cowered in the corner of the closet, praying he was too drunk to search this time.

"Come out Calli. You know you can't hide forever," he yelled, bending down to look under my bed. I'd hid down there last time, and what he'd done was so much worse than the belt. So.

So much worse.

Suddenly, Daddy turned to the closet doors. The corners of his mouth lifted in that haunting smile of his. "There you are Calli dearest. Why don't you come over here."

He could see me through the little gaps in the wood. He could see my fear. My tears falling from my cheeks and onto my knees. I shook my head, pleading for him to just leave me alone tonight.

To let me sleep for once in my life.

"I see. I'm gonna have to come to you," he chortled, that eerie smile still frozen on his face. He sauntered over to the closet, opening the doors in one swift jerk.

I whimpered and shoved myself into the wall as if I were trying to be a part of it. Daddy stood there, the belt wrapped around his palm like a bandage. And for him, it was.

It was a bandage for his past.

For me? Well. For me, it was the nightmare of my past, present, and future.

"Calli," Daddy cooed. "My beautiful Calli. We can play this the nice way today, or the hard way."

I sobbed. "No. No! No no no."

He growled and leaned forward, pulling my hair with his free hand. Sadly, I looked every bit like him. Black hair, blue eyes, and a round face. We were both pale.

We looked like we could be from a horror movie. Me because of my scars and bruised face, and Daddy because he was gaunt and almost lifeless. I was unmistakably his daughter.

I only wish I could find my Mom. Maybe she'd be willing to take custody of me.

Daddy yanked me out of the closet by my hair. I screamed in pain, clawing at his hands. Trying to pry them off. To no avail.

He raised his other hand and whipped me with the metal end of the belt. I screamed again. The pain never lessened. He never lessened the pain.

He'd drain me of my blood, sweat, and tears before the night was over. He always did that. Take everything from me. Even the things I cannot spare. Sometimes I think about running.

And then I realize; there's nowhere to run.

Though I was in my senior year of high school, I had no friends because of what Daddy did to me. I was always scared for their safety. So I always sat in the back corner of the classroom.

Ignored people who talked to me. Covered my eyes with my hood. Tried to give the cold shoulder. Tried to disappear.

He whipped the belt against me again, shoving me against the wall face first. He tore the back of my shirt open, thumbing the rigid scars he'd made on my back with the belt.

"There's my beautiful little girl," Daddy said, smirking. "Now hold still."

He brought the belt down on my back. I flinched every time he did it. I screamed every time he did it.

I knew if I moved, I'd be punished in the worst way possible, so I'd just shed every drop of blood from my body. It was the only thing I knew how to do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I touch up my makeup. Without the makeup, I'd show the whole world what happened to me every night. I wish I could force myself to do it, but I never could. I was too scared of Daddy.

Pulling on a black hoodie, and some black leggings, I headed down the creaky stairs softly. Daddy was still asleep when I went to school.

Putting on a pair of black boots, I grabbed my bag and left. If I left early in the morning, I could make it to school ten minutes before the tardy bell.

The grass was covered with thick morning dew. The sky was grey and heavy with the long due rain. I set a brisk pace for the school. It was a five-mile walk. I readjusted the bag on my shoulder.

Looking at the white cloud my warm breath produced. I let my hair fall across my face, shielding my sensitive eyes from the sun.

About twenty minutes later, I was walking into the school building. I go to Commonwealth High. One of the biggest high schools in the world. And that never works out in my favor.

Walking in, my eyes immediately land on a group of athletes who are stretching. It's odd that they do that, but they always like to show off their flexibility and muscles.

I frown at them, keeping my head cast down. I always get stares, which weirds me out because I didn't do anything to be recognized.

Walking over to my locker, which is the last locker on the left side, I lean against it. I have everything I need, so I don't open the small compartment.

I keep my head bowed down, but watch all the students as they watch me.

As if on queue, the bell rang. All the kids raced for their classes, shoving each other to the point that they blocked the hallway. I snorted. I hated school.

They should just be glad that I hated home more. I slowly walked over, shoving kids out of my way so that I could get to class.

They watched me recede from the scene, their faces donning shocked expressions.

Walking into my class, I sat in my usual seat. In the far left corner of the classroom. It was dingy back there, but it made due. The English teacher, Mrs.

Wittmer stood in the front of the room, writing our homework on the board.

Pulling out my notebook, I scribbled the words down, not really thinking about it. I was in a class with 36 other people.

I was surrounded by the bad boys though, so they ignored me half the time. To them, I was a great student. To the good students, I'm a bad kid. Guess it's just in the genes.

I tapped my pencil against the edge of the desk, zoning out.

"Ms. Jaspers?" Mrs. Wittmer called. "Ms. Jaspers!"

Suddenly back in the world, I glanced up at her. "Do you need to go to the nurse?" She asked, worry in her voice. I cocked my head.

Though I wish I didn't have to, I always had to reply to the teachers.

"For what?" I asked.

Nolan, the kid in front of me touched his nose. "You're bleeding."

I reached up to my nose and pulled my hand back. It was covered in the syrupy red liquid. I stared at it. I was so used to bleeding that I didn't notice it anymore.

"Just some tissues should fix it," I murmured.

Mrs. Wittmer shook her head. "Calli. It's all over the desk."

I looked down at my papers and things. My sleeves were covered in the blood, and so were my notes. I'd never seen a puddle of blood before, but it reeked. Nolan gagged at it.

Brenda, the girl next to Nolan puked onto the floor at the sight of it. But none of it fazed me. "Some tissues should fix the issue," I repeat, monotone.

Mrs. Wittmer grabbed the tissue box off her desk and threw it at me. "Go get cleaned up. We'll be relocated to room 502."

Nodding, I left the classroom, stuffing the tissues uncomfortably up my nose. Racing down the hall, I turned the corner. And ran head-first into another person.

"Ow!" He yelped.

As I fell onto the floor, I could feel the scabs on my back pull apart. The tissues fell from my nose, leaving me to bleed out across the floor. I rolled onto my side, moaning in pain.

The boy got up to his feet and stared down at me. "Oh my g-gosh," he stammered. "I did that?"

"No, idiot," I ground out, laying back down on my back so that he couldn't see the blood. "I was bleeding before then."

His light brown hair fell into his silver eyes as he watched me. He was tanned as if he had just come back from a long summer in Florida.

"Do you need me to get help?" He asked, worry thick in his voice.

"I'm fine," I grumble, sitting up again. Keeping my back aimed away from him, I rubbed at my face, wishing the newfound pain to go away. I was always filled with pain.

I just wanted there to be less.

"No, you're not. I can seriously see the pool of blood behind you. I'm not stupid."

"I just called you an idiot," I growl, looking up at him from my seated position. "Go to class. Never talk to me again."

He frowned at me, shaking his head. "I'll go get you help." And then he ran back the way he came, heading towards the nurse.

Groaning again, I jump to my feet. I needed to leave. This was not how people were going to find out about my home life. I ran back towards my classroom. It had an emergency evacuation door.

It was the only way I could leave unnoticed. Covering my face with my hand, I started the long run home. I hated running, but I couldn't get caught.

Running along the edge of the woods, I hid in the trees every time a car came along.

By now, the blood had started to dry, and my wounds scabbed up again. I was not excited to be going home, but I couldn't let them see me like this.

I couldn't let them see the broken and useless person I actually was inside.

Once I arrived at home, I stop running and stare at the chipped white paint. The windows were tinted a yellowish color. From what I knew, the house had been passed on for generations.

For all I know, Daddy would be the last to have it. Once he was gone, I'd tear it down. The blue door was to the point of breaking off at its hinges. The house was in terrible condition.

I step up to the door and put my hand on the knob. I could already tell Daddy was here. And the smell was what made me finally retch into the bushes.

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