If God Could Save Me, He Enjoys My Pain

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“Don’t you ever”-kick-“ever”-kick-“do that again!” my father growled, kicking me again. The kick landed squarely in my ribs, causing my me to curl up into an even tighter ball. My hands curled into fists and I pulled them into my body.

“Do you hear me?” my father demanded, leaning over me. I replied with a little whimper of pain, an involuntary reaction. “Bitch,” he muttered, before giving me a final kick in the shoulder before stepping over me and walking back to the small, cramped living room.

I curled tighter into myself, holding my stomach with fisted hands.

God, it hurt; it burned. My entire torso felt as if it were on fire. My shoulder wasn’t as bad but the pain seared into my mind. I tried to roll over on my back and a moan escaped my lips as I felt pain rip through my body. I arched up - only causing more pain to rocket through me like a knife - and let out a muffled cry, not wanting my father to hear me.

My father. He wasn’t a father, he never had been. He always used brute strength - powered by the alcohol that he consumed - to discipline. But the alcohol that he did in take caused him to become violent and irrational. It was like a second nature to him to hurt me.

I could stay in that spot, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the water stains on the roof with my eyes. Listening to the unidentifiable noises coming from the other apartments in the crappy building. Feel the ground shake beneath me as a train or large truck passed by. Smell the disgusting odour of my father sitting in the other room. Taste the dryness of the air on my tongue the next time I inhaled.

But, I could always get up. I could leave from it, just never come back.

But I wasn’t brave enough. I wasn’t strong enough to stand up against him. And I could never run from him.

I heard my father as he flicked through the TV channels on our small TV. I struggled to push my worn body into a sitting position and gasped as pain shot through me again. I forced myself up and stood on wobbly legs. I grabbed my sweater and limped slowly out the door.

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I didn’t hear my father call me name as the door slammed shut.

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I walked the cold streets of Toronto slowly. I passed the homeless on the streets, digging into my pocket and tossing them whatever change I had. I saw smiley couples holding hands pass me with a second - or a first - glance. Groups of teenagers my age passed by me from the other side of the street, laughing loudly, carefree.

I’d been wondering the streets of Toronto for hours now. The sun had set hours ago and the full moon was bright against the black blanket of the sky. Sounds of chatter, cars and music moved through the city. Bright lights flashed across the sky and hung on the lamps that lit the streets.

I hugged my sweater tighter around my body, warding off of the cold wind.

I felt my head grow lighter and my body sway slightly, but I pushed myself to keep going forward, forcing myself to get as far away as possible.

My head grew lighter with each step I took but I still made my body work. I refused to turn back.

I would never turn back to him, I told myself. I would never turn to him for help. I’d always taken care of myself, quite well, actually. I’d provided for myself, worked since he refused to do too much. I’d been taking care of his sorry ass since mom left.

Mom. I could see her now. Probably re-married now, with a new, loving family. With a husband that didn’t strike her. With a child that didn’t disappoint her.

I tried to chase the thoughts away from my head, but I couldn’t help but conjure up an image of her in my mind. She looked a lot like me. The same long, curly blonde hair. The same green-gold eyes and height. The same worst nightmare...

I shook my head abruptly, trying to push the thoughts away from my mind. It only caused me to become even more dizzy. I grabbed onto the nearest object - a trash can - to still myself and wait for my vision to stop spinning in circles.

When my world finally stopped spinning, I thought for a moment. Why didn’t I just call Emily?

Emily Zanders, my best friend since the first day of highschool, lived a few blocks from where I was currently at. Just the thought of Emily brought a small smile to my face. We’d met on the first day of highschool. She was new to the city and the first time she’d laid eyes on me she’d walked straight up to me and told me, bluntly, that her and I were to be best friends. But it was so hard not being her friend. She was so smiley all the time, so friendly. She was understanding and knew of my father’s abuse. She’d helped me get a job to help support him.

Emily was...everything I wasn’t. She had the most beautiful blonde hair - straight and tamed, unlike my own locks - and stormy blue eyes. She was so small - a little shorter than my own five four - and had a huge heart.

As I trudged my way up the street, I had a sudden dizzy spell.

The last thing I remember was the strangest purple eyes.

And then darkness.

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A/N Woot! I’ve got a new story! I’ve got a new story!

I realize that it doesn’t seem to interesting right now, and it’s short but it’s going to change. It’s a romance so let me know what you think!

Luvs and kissing-random-famous-rockers,

Jilli.

P.S. BTW, the ending to my author notes have clues to the next chapters in this story.

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