Author: brit02 PM
This is a companion piece to StripehChekaz 'Shatter'. Lily is sexually abused by her step father, and her only escape is the violent world she willingly immerses herself in. But would it be enough to forget her nightly horror?Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort - Words: 2,558 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 06-26-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2822079
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is written as a companion fic for 'Shatter' by StripehChekaz, you people should check it out sometime :) She requested that we, the readers, suggest characters for her story, and this is the story for the character I suggested for her.
If you like this, you should enjoy her fic even more!!
I hate my life.
That phrase was repeated in my head like a mantra as he forced himself into me, again, and again, and again. I let out a scream of pain as he gripped my hand so hard that I heard the bones creak. Any harder and he would break my wrist.
A hand swept across my face as he slapped me. "Shut the fuck up, bitch." He growled into my ear, his breath reeking of alcohol. I cringed away, but he gripped my face in his course hand. "I don't want your mamma findin' out about us." I shut my eyes tightly as he continued to abuse my body. I was powerless in his hands.
When he was finally finished with me, I curled into a ball on my side. Tears ran down my face freely, and I quieted my sobs. I didn't want my brother, Liam, to hear me. If he did, it would only end up in bloodshed-on his part. My stepfather was a hard man to beat in a fistfight. Liam was big for his age, with broad shoulders and powerful arms, but my stepfather was a beast.
Liam never won any fights he got into over me.
Despite my attempts to silence my crying, my door creaked open. For a wild moment, I thought it was him again, but I knew he never returned to my room after he was done with me. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. "Did he do it again?" My brother's voice was hushed, but the venom behind it was unmistakable. I didn't answer, instead turning towards him and burying my face into his chest. His arms wrapped around me protectively, and I sobbed even harder.
"Please, please don't mention it." I whispered when my sobs had subsided.
His arms tightened around me in anger. "Lily, I can't do that."
"Please. You'll only get hurt again." I tilted my face up to his, and met his green eyes, so alike mine. If not for the three year difference between us, we could be mistaken for twins; we had identical heart-shaped faces, with almond shaped eyes. Our eyes were a deep green flecked with gold. My brown hair was darker than his, so much so it almost seemed black at times. His had blonde streaks in it, a result of spending so much time outdoors. While he was broad-shouldered, I was more petite. I was under the average height, barely brushing five foot two.
His jaw clenched in anger at my request, but he tersely nodded his head in agreement. I sighed in relief, and sagged against him. He was my one constant in my life, my pillar of strength. I would usually fall asleep in his arms, taking comfort in his solidarity and warmth. Tonight was no different.
When I awoke, I was alone. I clutched the tee I slept in as a violent shudder passed through my body.
No more. I can't take any more.
With effort, I forced myself to my feet, and I swayed. I stumbled to my desk and looked at myself in the mirror, wincing at my reflection. A deep purple bruise spread across my right cheek where he slapped me, and as I looked at my wrist and saw the bruised imprint of his hand on it. I took a deep, calming breath, and leveled my eyes at my own reflection. I didn't see a trace of my anger or hopeless in my eyes' green depths, and I robotically applied foundation and concealer on the bruise, not even wincing as I prodded the new bruise. I was used to this by now.
After I was satisfied by my reflection, I made my way to my closet. I pulled out a black fitted shirt and dark skinny jeans, ensuring the new bruise on my wrist was concealed. The long sleeves also hid my older bruises from later nights. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I smiled grimly at my appearance. The dark kohl eyeliner and black shirt made my eyes seem an intense green, and added a foreboding and dangerous look to my face.
I grabbed my bag and walked downstairs slowly, listening for any sounds that would alert me to his presence. As I emerged in the kitchen, my mouth went mouth went dry. I quickly spun around, ignoring the screams of my mother to eat breakfast, feeling his eyes boring into my back. I slipped on my scuffed black Converse and walked out of my personal hell.
My fist met with the soft flesh of the boy's stomach with a satisfying smack. I grinned maliciously as he coughed, trying to catch his breath. "You'll do good to remember to not bounce into me again." The boy glared at me, and swung his fist at my face. I laughed gleefully as I dodged under his swinging fist and sunk my elbow into his stomach again. I took a step back.
"You bitch." He growled past clenched teeth.
I readjusted my balance then swung my foot up and to his face. A spurt of blood erupted from his nose as it broke with a crack as my foot connected with his face. Not waiting for him to recover, I spun around and my heel connected solidly with his face. He fell to the floor, coughing up blood. I leaned over him and fixed him with a scowl. He cringed away from me, and I smiled in satisfaction. "Now get out of my fucking face."
He scrambled to his feet and stumbled away from me. I straightened, and looked at my surroundings. I was in the park a few blocks away from my school, and it was surprisingly quiet for this time of day. Usually at night the place was full of people mingling. I sighed regretfully. I liked it when there were a lot of people; it increased my chances for a fight or two, an opportunity to steal a handbag, or the possibility I could get some good dope. When it was so empty, there was an increased risk of being spotted doing something or the other.
My thoughts flashed to my ex, Deym. Before, when I had him, I didn't have to go look for trouble to get my mind off of Dave; I was content with him where ever we went. I shook my head to clear it of these thoughts. Dwelling on the past is of no use to me.
I looked around and saw my favorite dealer. I made my way over to him, but he shook his head. "Not today, dearie." I frowned. This day just seemed to be getting worse.
Shrugging my shoulders, I made my way to the market place. There was always a good place to pickpocket or snatch an item, and was nicely crowded. Luckily for me, the market was merely on the other side of the park, and I had already spotted my newest target; a woman in her early fifties with a brown leather handbag strung over her shoulder.
Slipping a blade from my jeans into my hand, I expertly cut the strap of the handbag and grabbed the bag before it fell. I then made my way through the crowd, holding the bag out of sight until I was sure there was sufficient distance between me and the older lady. Only then did I look at my prize.
In the handbag was a wallet, which I quickly emptied, discarding the credit cards and anything else that could be traced, a few pictures of little girls who I assumed were her granddaughters, and other knick knacks. I sighed. Except for the sixty-three dollars in her wallet, the bag was full of useless junk.
I chucked the now empty bag into the drain, and looked for a new victim. As I scanned the crowd, I saw the boy I had beat from earlier, his face covered in dried blood. As I saw him, his eyes met mine, and he grinned triumphantly. Pointing in my direction to two other boys, he said something inaudible. My answering grin was feral; at last, a challenge. I ducked into a nearby alley, ensuring they saw where I went. Soon I heard the thundering of footsteps, and I slipped my other dagger into my hand, so I held a blade in each hand.
"You haven't gone crying to your mommy yet, boy?" I asked snidely, even though my eyes continued to flick between the three boys.
The one on the right was the one to jump at me first. I dropped to my knee and brought my hand up into his torso, the blade in my hand cutting deeply into his upper body. He stumbled back with a groan. I looked at him, a strange surge of pleasure coursing through my veins. At the hands of my stepfather I was powerless, but against these buffoons I was invincible. I kicked the boy so that he fell to the floor, and I straddled him, bringing the knife in my left hand to his neck. A pinprick of blood seeped out of the point of contact.
I heard movement behind me, and I threw myself backwards so I was lying on my back. Another one of the boys had taken the opportunity of having my back to him to swing at me. Swinging my legs around, I caught his legs and threw him to the floor. I then launched myself into a standing position and settled into a crouch. As the boy from earlier rushed me from one side, his friend rushed me from the other. Stepping to his friend, I brought my knife down and up, cutting into his chest and shoulder. A trail of blood followed my blade. Quick as lightening, I spun around, knives flashing, catching the other boy in his arm.
The blood from my victims strengthened me, and I let out a humorless laugh. I was a fighting machine; no one could touch me. I wanted to see the boys on their knees, begging for mercy; I wanted to see their blood. I wanted more blood. I wanted to drown myself in violence and blood so I could forget my own moments of weakness when he raped me in my own bed.
With a howl, I jumped towards the boy, and plunged both my knives into his abdomen. I twisted the knives and yanked them out. He clutched his belly, his brown eyes full of fear and pain. "Please...please don't kill me." He gasped out, and I laughed, sounding like a maniac.
"I won't kill you, you worthless worm." I spat out. I then spun on my heel and left the three cowering boys behind me.
As I entered the house, I felt my bravado from earlier leaving me. I cautiously made my way up the stairs, hoping to hear my brother in his room, or my mother in the kitchen. If there were others in the house, the likelihood of him coming to me was less. To my dismay, I could only hear one person: me.
I opened the door to my room, opening it inch by inch. I scanned my room and let out a sigh of relief as I saw it was empty. Then I felt a hand grab the back of my shirt and lift me around, slamming me against the wall outside my room. I gasped as the air left my lungs and stars danced before my eyes. "D-dave." I choked out, and his rancid breath washed over my face.
Before I could answer, he had grabbed me around the waist and threw me into my bed. I struggled to sit up, but he forced me down with one hand while the other undid the button on my jeans.
"No!" I screamed, and a hand was clapped over my mouth. I bit onto it, hard, and Dave howled in pain. He raised his hand from my face, only to bring it down-repeatedly-as he punched my face. I felt my skin open on my cheek, and blood trickled down my face. My eye started to swell shut, and I knew it was going to be one of those nights, where I won't be able to walk or even leave my room the next day.
I whimpered, and brought my hands to my face to futilely stop his attacks. When he was satisfied I won't shout again, he continued to undo my pants and yanked them off, throwing them into the corner of my room. My underwear soon followed.
I brought my hands to his chest and pushed, to no avail. He was too strong, too big…
He punched me in the face again, and I tasted blood.
Grunting as he slid his own pants down, I tried to squirm out of his grasp. A sharp pain in my side stopped me, and I heard a crack. A rib was broken; I was sure of it. Then a pain in my private area, greater than any other he had dealt to my face or side, drew a strangled gasp from my throat. He thrust harder, and tears formed in my eyes. Maybe if I stopped struggling, it would hurt less…
After he stumbled out of my room, drunk as he was, I curled my hand into a fist. It shook with the anger and frustration I felt. I staggered to my feet, and put on my jeans, taking out one of my knives from them. I considered writing a note to Liam-isn't that what people usually do?-but decided against it. He would understand. I hobbled to the bathroom and locked the door. I turned on the tap to the bath and threw my knife from one hand to the other, refusing to think about what I was about to. When the bath was full, I gingerly lowered myself into the bathtub and rolled the sleeve of my black shirt to my elbow.
Taking a deep breath, I took the knife in my left hand and dragged it up the underside of my arm, from the wrist to the elbow. Blood began to run from the ragged cut at an alarming rate, and I gasped at the pain. A sudden panic overtook my limbs.
I don't want to die!
I thrashed in the water, but my strength was quickly depleting. I felt myself slipping…
Darkness overtook my vision, and I vaguely felt my head go under the water.
As my vision dimmed, I saw a few bubbles that escaped my lips float to the surface.
I don't want to die…
Then I succumbed to the darkness.
Heh, so I hope you liked it :)
Any thoughts? Comments? Criticisms? Like it? Hate it? Love it?