Love Hurts

I lay on the floor feeling nothing but pain. My dad just stormed out of the house after coming home drunk and beating the living hell out me for no reason at all. After two years, you would think that I would be used to it by now. When I can finally stand, I grab the wall and work my way up the stairs. Once I get to the top and can walk better now so I walk to the bathroom connected to my room.

I look under the sink for my bag. I find it, put it on the counter, and pull out my razor and make a cut on my left arm for each time this has happened this week. I go to start on the next arm when I get a text from a friend at school.