Every day is always the same, it doesn't matter whether or not it happens in exactly the same order but in the end it boils down to one simple thing; every time I have the misfortune to let myself exist on this plane I find myself thrown under the hand of someone who is supposed to take care of me.

"You worthless piece of shit, you were the worst thing to ever happen to me. Your mother had to die and leave you in my care the worthless bitch." He stated as he threw me against the wall with a fair amount of force, causing my head to hit the wall with a loud crack.

Stars dance in front of my eyes, shining white and gold pinpoints of light, swirling with luminent incandescence as my body sends a reaction through all the nerve centres in my body. My breath leaves me in a sharp gasp, as the force of impact hits me. Shaking the light from my eyes and focusing back on the reality in front of me, such as it is, I try to pull myself together.

I hate him with every part of my being and times like this only encourage me to hate him even more. It isn't just hate that begins pumping through my body with the thought of his name however, swirled into the mix is a little bit off disgust, horror and no small amount of hate to accompany that.

The man that I hate, the man whose name I can barely stand to think of, is my step-father, and my merciless tormentor Brian.

He's not really all that threatening to the average person, just a red faced man with a receding hairline. His eyes must once have been quite striking. They're an interesting shade of green, that I'm sure once would have been bright and glittering like golden sunlight striking a many faceted emerald. Like I said, I'm sure once they were striking, but years of abuse have dulled them and given the green a lifeless glaze.A sparse smattering of coarse red hair laid on his head, receding up his forehead and falling out in patches like a malting cat.

He wasn't an especially tall man, my mother had never liked it when her men were too tall, but he wasn't exactly a dwarf either. He was thin, with waning muscle that came from retirement of a job consisting of mostly manual labour. His gut was just just beginning to overhang his trousers, bunching his shirt and filling out his otherwise slim form.

All in all he was rather average, nothing all that special or really even all that intimidating. I'd seen men and women walking around the street that most people would find a hell of a lot scarier than the middle aged man with his crooked stained teeth, bellowing into my face. The irony was most of the time I would rather face one of them than the man in front of me.

It wasn't always like this, I wasn't always some whiny little kid huddling in the corner and crying that his daddy was mean to him. Not that long ago I had some semblance of a happy family. I had a mother and a 'father', and sometimes we were happy together. Every family has bad days, and we did too, it's just that we had more of them than most.

My real father was just some one night stand, who chatted up a lonely girl, looking for romance in the big city. Just your typical sob story; boy meets girl, girl fucks boy, girl gets pregnant and has child, guy gets the hell out leaving no trace. I didn't miss my father growing up though, and I didn't even think I needed one when my mother started dating this nice guy from down the road. They got got closer and closer, until eventually he just moved in since he spent of his time here anyway.

The world is in a constant state of change, seasons blend from one into the next, ice melts to become water, and love twists to become hate. Changes happen all around us every day. Some changes are good and others are bad. For me everything changed in a single instant. My life was set upside down by a chain reaction, like a ripple on the water.

Two and a half years ago my mother died in a car accident; A rich man was talking on the phone while he was driving, his attention was on the phone and not where he was going . He swerved out of the way of some little kid trying to get a ball and hit my mother's car. It crumpled like candy and she died instantly. There wasn't anything that I could have done to change the way things happened. Nothing I said or did would have changed my mothers mind, and yet I am the one He blames for her death, because if I hadn't been sick with the flu then she never would have gone to go get me cough medicine. She would have stayed home that day and been safe, and this family would have been whole and complete.

Although my mind told me not the believe him, after I while I came to believe the words he spat at me. It was my fault that she was dead, it was my fault because she went driving because of me, she was dead because of me. I didn't want to let the words into my head, but the constant repetition let each syllable sink deep into my subconscious, inflicting psychological wounds.

Brian always seemed big and menacing to me, he wasn't someone I would ever look up to as a real father figure even when Mom was around, but now I couldn't even think of him as my father. He was never the same after Mom died, it was like getting her out of the way set him into a state of depression and psychosis and he couldn't even stand the sight of me.

He lost his job because he stopped going to work, crashing on the couch after all night drinking binges and drug induced highs. The transformation was a slow slide into psychosis, and at first it was barely noticeable. It was only later when it was too late to change that he started getting violent as well as lethargic during the day. With no income and huge expenditures we fell deep into debt very quickly. The government subsidy that he procured wasn't enough to feed his addictions, and it seemed as though nothing would get us out, until one day bills stopped appearing, and we started managing a little better. I never figured out how we got through, or what had happened, but I was too fearful to ask.

Once he lost his job I had another problem;He was always home, and if he wasn't at home he was off procuring drugs and alcohol to feed his incurable addiction. The habits he got into caused his foul temper to become even worse than it had been when Mom was alive, and he began flying into rages, yelling and screaming at me for any reason he could think of.

This beating was for my 'little stunt' as I entered the house; I unlocked the door, and the lock clicked loudly, waking him from an alcoholic stupor.

As I entered my room, stepping as softly and being as quiet as I could be he caught me, lifting me from the ground by my shirt collar and throwing me across the room. His eyes were dark and threatening, filled with rage as he advanced on me slowly, stalking across the room like a lumbering panther.

"You noisy little prick, how dare you enter this house making as much noise as you did. Who do you think you are?" He snapped in my face, the stench of alcohol hitting my nose. In that moment I was so scared that I felt as though my heart was going to burst, and I could think of nothing but my deep need to run as far and as fast as I can. My mind screams at me to get away from the maniac before he can inflict even more damage. Naturally my stupid body ignores my mind and I sit there in a state of frozen panic. I couldn't help but wish more than anything that mom hadn't died and left me in this mans care.

This horrible, drunken idiots care.

"N-no one sir" I stutter nervously knowing that if I don't reply I am going to be beaten worse than if I just give him what he wants from me. I've learned the tricks of placating him in order to get through our interactions mostly in one piece. It isn't ideal, or even perfect, but it's my life and I've learned to live it as it is, rather than waste my hopes on anything more.

"That's right, you are no one and nothing" He spat as he slapped me across the face, the heavy handed blow splitting my lip. It stings painfully, and I can feel the blood seeping slowly down my chin leaving behind a crimson trail. I reach up my hand and wipe it away, wincing slightly as I brush the split lightly. My movements are precise and as few as I can make them. The last thing I want to do is draw extra attention to myself.

"You worthless piece of shit, you were the worst thing to ever happen to me. Your mother had to die and leave you in my care the useless bitch." He hissed, pulling my body forward throwing me against the wall again. My head spins and my vision goes black, and for a blissful second I feel no pain.

My brief bout of unconsciousness is ripped away as I fall back into reality with startling abruptness. My eyes open to be confronted with the sight of threadbare, stained carpet. Cool air caresses my bare skin, and I instantly know what is happening. My shirt lays abandoned in a crumpled pile, inches from my face, a pool of black fabric.

A weight settles on my back, and my ribs are pressed into the hard floor. Beneath the carpet is nothing but a layer of thick concrete, and the unyielding harshness of the solid floor pressures my ribs until I am certain they must either bruise until I bleed or break.

"You know better than to anger me don't you? You know I'm going to have to punish you now don't you?" He asked whispering ominously in my ear. His voice is nothing but a low hiss, his tone filled with venom. If anyone could kill with only the power of their voice it would be this man, and they would die a slow agonising death as he laughed them all the way to their graves.

"Y-yes sir" I whispered, a single tear escaping my eyes as I felt my pants and boxers being removed and I anticipated my 'punishment'. I felt lower than anything in the world, and I wanted to die. Every time this happened I did die, a piece of my soul died, and I became more hollow. Soon I would be nothing more than a lifeless husk, walking around like a desensitised zombie.

I needed to cry, but I didn't want to show my tears or my pain and vulnerability around him. I refused to give Brian any more ammunition than he already had, besides it would do no good for him to notice another weakness to exploit.

He removed his own clothing with fumbling hands, and threw it aside, leaving it in a pile on my floor beside me. The empty clothes mocked me as they sung their threats, making me tense as I knew inevitably this scene had to come to its climax. With a few seconds of silence and tension while I waited for movement he finally made his presence known a again as he shoved himself brutally into my opening with no preparation.

There was nothing but the pain of deep and brutal penetration. It burnt as if my insides were on fire and the pain intensified as he withdrew himself roughly and slammed back in repeatedly with no regards to anything but fulfilling his own sadistic pleasure. I stifled a scream as I felt myself tear, my own blood providing lubricant. I was in so much pain I couldn't even think straight, but the lubrication my blood provided eased a little of the burning.

The air was filled with low grunts and the slick sound of wet skin slapping forcefully together. The sound was overbearing in the otherwise silent room, and it made me feel sick. I dry heaved and threw a hand over my mouth to try and keep it in as the man penetrating me continued to abuse me. Sweat, blood, and other fluids dripped down my legs and covered my skin in a layer of filth.

Time taunted me, as my punishment strung itself out, seemingly lasting an eternity. My body was in so much pain, throbbing and searing under a heavy grip, and the pain of repeated blows that I could barely move. After a time he finally came, releasing his seed inside me with a scalding rush of liquid. I shuddered in disgust and displeasure as he got to his feet and clothed himself.

Without even looking back the man who had just violated me left the room.

Once he was gone I allowed myself to release all the tears that I had hidden during the act. Trembling with silent tears I painfully dragged myself to the corner of my room, moving past the throbbing and searing pain in my body. The carpet scratched my already stinging skin, and I curled up against the cool wall with relief once I knew I was out of sight of anyone who might appear.

My school bag lay abandoned on the floor, a ripped canvas backpack held together with many safety pins. Opening it I delved hand deep inside, rooting around and rifling through the items searching for a tiny blue jewelery box. When my hand touched the fluffy velvet of the box I withdrew my hand and opened the box. Inside was a single blade.

It was a simple razor blade I had removed from my shaver. The blade had a red tinge from previous use. Yes, this wasn't the first time i had been punished in this way, nor was it the first time i had used this form of relief.

I admired the blade for a second before holding it to my arm and drawing it across my skin slowly. For a second there was no visible change in appearance, and then a thin line of ruby red flashed across my arm, glittering into life and spreading across my skin. I hissed a sigh of relief through my teeth as I felt the blood dripping slowly down my arm easing my emotional and mental anguish.

The scarlet of fresh blood was entrancing, and as the liquid formed many little trails down my arm, mimicking my veins I found myself watching with rapt attention. The pain in my body was gone as I shut myself off from everything but what I could see. A broken laugh escaped my lips in soft peals as I watched my psychological scars mingle with the physical.

I sat in that spot for hours staring at my own blood covering my arm until eventually I fell asleep, the blade falling from my hand to the floor, my dreams blissfully non-existent.