Chapter 1: You don't know

I have a terrible life. I sit all alone, and have no friends. Well. . . I had a friend. Key word, had. She committed suicide to escape her abusive father. She wrote me a letter before she left, I keep it safe in my locker.

Dear Violet,

You mean the world to me but its getting worse and I can't hide the bruises anymore, if a teacher sees my dad will only hurt me more. No world can separate us, my love for our friendship is eternal.

Your friend today and tomorrow,
єℓℓα.

       Every day is a blur, it's just a routine nowadays. I wake up and get ready, hide the bruises, walk to school, only to get bullied by all the dickheads here, then go home to face my father. It's truly an endless cycle. Every night I go home just to receive more colored spots to hide the next day. I'm never enough for them. I just want to end it all. To just end my pain, but something keeps me from doing it. I guess I'm just too weak to pull the trigger. Pathetic, I know.

       I managed to get through all of my classes alright, but I'm so tired. Physically and mentally. I was so tired I ignored three guys trying to talk to me which resulted in them shoving me around and yelling at me. That caused me to get home late, then triggering my dad. He made sure to hit me hard for disobeying his curfew rule. I crawled up into the shower and washed off all the blood. I looked at myself in the mirror, analyzing myself from every angle. Back covered in dark bruises, bruises scattered on my legs, and I won't be surprised if I find one soon on the side of my face. I raise my hand and skim my fingers across it, immediately wincing. Nowadays my closet is full of pants, leggings, long sleeved shirts, turtlenecks and hoodies. I look through my closet and select a beige turtleneck, blue jeans and some black combat boots. I'm grateful for the cold weather we're experiencing right now. With this weather, people aren't questioning my appearance, making it easier to keep this a secret.

       "Ugh I can't do this anymore." I slam my hands down on my notebook. I have a story to write for my English class and I keep getting writers block. I've put this off for so long and it's due in two days. "I need a break." I mutter.

       I climb down the stairs making sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake up my father. I search through the pantry, hoping we have an extra granola bar or something I can eat. I had to skip dinner because my father refused to let me eat, I know I should probably cook something for myself, but I don't want to be loud. And the fridge is empty, aside from some beer and a few old veggies sitting in the tray. I hate celery, but I'm honestly starving.

       I want to run away. So badly. I feel like life will be easier if I could just live on my own. But who am I kidding? I can't survive out there. He would find me before I even make it out of the city. Then what? He'll kill me? Lock me in the house? Beat me even more? Its not worth it, if I die I'd rather it be by my own hands. Just like my mom.