My eyes felt heavy as I struggled to pry them open. I could feel the brightness of the sun peeking through my curtains landing on my face and warming my skin.

Too bad it didn’t help the throbbing my left wrist felt or the constant pounding in my head. I got up and staggered into the bathroom.

My hazel eyes started back at me. No dried up tears. He always cleaned my face up after he was done terrorizing me.

Maybe because of his guilty conscience or to please his repulsive desires. I lifted up my left arm with much struggle as pain radiated from my wrist. It was swollen, but I could move it so I concluded that it was just sprained.

I looked back in the mirror to see tears leaking out my eyes and soon enough sobs racked my body as I tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t. I felt disgusted and disappointed in myself.

I could still feel every fondle and caress he gave me. I quickly ripped of my clothes and went in the shower and started scrubbing.

Trying to get rid of my disgust

Trying to scrub the feeling of his hands off me

Trying to forget

Trying to banish the idea of giving in…

But I knew deep down I was already giving up.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’ll be ok, I’m ok” I kept mumbling to myself, but by the end of the sentence I was still sobbing.

My legs gave out beneath me and I did nothing but sit there as the water streamed down on me. 
 

Once I pulled myself back together I got ready as quickly as I could with a sprained wrist. I downstairs slowly not wanting to wake up mom who probably just got back from work not too long ago.

She works the night shift at our local hospital as a nurse so not only do I not get to see her a lot, but that revolting devil looks after to me.

I made my way towards her room and looked between the crack of her slightly ajar door. She was sleeping, her purse and scrubs were thrown carelessly on the floor and she was in her gray sweatpants and baggy gray shirt.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I wish she would notice and pay attention to the pain I was in.

There have been many occasions where I’ve tried to drop hints about my situation. She had noticed a couple of bruises one day. She asked me what happened and for a minute I was froze up. I could have been straightforward and told her the truth, but the words died on my tongue as I remembered his threats. So I looked her in the eye begging to her silently to dig deeper and figure the truth out for herself as a lie spilled from my lips saying I tripped and fell...but she either didn’t notice or simply decided to ignore the way my eyes pleaded to her as she only responded with “you are too clumsy” and left the house to go to work.

A heavy and shaky sighed left my mouth as the stress and anxiety of another day weighed down on me. I wanted to tell her so badly. Any other person that isn’t in my situation would say “I know I would've told someone immediately.”

I used to think that too, but then I felt real fear. Not the fear you feel when the seeker during hide and seek is about to find you or when you get scared while watching a horror movie. No...It’s nothing like that.

Real fear is dreadful and it gnaws at your stomach and makes you want to retreat to the darkest part of your mind and wish you were numb to pain. It turns you into a shell of your former self and breaks you down to tears. Fear knows that you can’t do anything, it makes you paralyzed and bravery no longer exist when fear takes over. That’s true fear. I resent the man that has instilled that type of fear in me.

I sighed once again as I realized I’ve been standing here for a while lost in my thoughts and I had to get to school.

School was my only safe haven. That’s where I could relax for once without any fear. School was my home.
 

As I entered my first class I was greeted by my favorite teacher. She was like a second guardian to me. When Aunty Janet died, it hit my mom hard. Aunty Janet was the only other living relative in our family. As far as I know my grandparents died before I was even born and my mom and aunt didn't have any more siblings.

After her death my mom buried herself in work. I know she was still paying off the bills from the funeral that piled up and on top of that bills for the house. He was helping her out with any expenses. Maybe that’s why she sees him as a wonderful person.

He offers her to look after me when she can't, gives her money when she needs it, and buys us expensive things without asking. Anyone looking in from the outside would think I'm just an ungrateful brat that has unnecessary hatred for that man, but if only they knew how much suffering I go through.

I was once again lost in my thoughts that I didn't even notice the bell had rung and class was getting started. I shook my head and scolded myself for thinking about what's going on at home. I didn't want any bad memories at school. Here everyone knew my as a nice and joyful person and I planned to keep it that way.

Throughout the entirety of the class my left wrist that was sprained throbbed even though I had a wrap on it. I made sure the wear long sleeves today so it at least would be covered and I could avoid unnecessary attention, but I'm sure someone would notice how much I would fidget with it.

Sure enough before I could leave the class Mrs. Jackson pulled me aside and asked me if everything was alright while glancing at my wrist.

Per usual I mustered up the best smile and answered saying everything is fine. I didn't want to get her involved in my home life. She had enough to worry about and I definitely didn't want anyone at school to find out why happens behind closed doors. I could only imagine the conversations between students.

Student one: “Did you know her aunt's husband abused her? They say it was sexual abuse.”

Student two: “You sure it was sexual abuse?”

Student one: “What do you mean?”

Student two: “I mean for all we know it wasn't forced at all. She probably enjoyed it. Probably was the one to even seduce him.”

I grimaced at the made up conversation in my head. There had been situations like this in the past at this school.

Somehow students figured out details about others home life. Instead of being empathetic and understanding they usually switch that story up or make the victim the bad guy. My life at home was already hell; I don't need to have the potential risk of being alienated at school.

That day went by fast much to my disdain. I was getting ready to walk home when once again Mrs. Jackson stopped me so we could talk.

“Hey Violet, you know that I think of you as a second daughter right? I just wanted you to know if anything is bothering you or you need someone to talk to you I'm here.”

I almost started crying right then and there. I wanted to tell her everything and just spill all the things that have been happening to me since aunty Janet died, but I knew it would only cause more problems to arise.

She must have sensed my hesitation as she put her hands on my both of my shoulders and looked me in the eye.

“You know that right?” She asked again.

I could only nod and bite my tongue. She sighed knowing she wasn't going to get anything more from me.

“Well I guess I'll let you go know. Just remember what I said. See you tomorrow.” She ended the conversation, but I couldn't even find my voice to say bye.

I knew if I said anything I would start crying. I just turned around and started walking back home.

I knew he would be there when I got home. My mom gave him a spare key so he could get in anytime. I stopped at the front door and took a deep breath and prepared myself to rush into my room as soon as I entered.

I turned the key in the knob and ran inside. I passed him on the way up the stairs and he tried to grab me, but I ducked and slammed my room door and locked it. I caught my breath as I heard his dark chuckle come from where I passed him downstairs.

“Oh little flower you know you can't hide from me forever.” He said while continuing to laugh.

His laugh continued as I heard his footsteps walk from the stairs towards the living room until I couldn't hear him any longer.

I released a breath. I was relieved that at least for tonight I could get a break. He would sometimes try to open up the door and some days I wouldn't even make it to my room.

I didn't hesitate to do as much work as possible so I had some free time. Who knew how long he would stay calm and not come banging on my door.

Once I was finished with homework I quickly pulled out my journal that I kept at the back of my closet that was covered by shoes and boxes that held things I no longer needed or used.

This journal contained everything that has happened to me and that I hope will change in the future. I always got lost in my writing. Aunty Janet was actually the one to give me this. We both have a love for writing.

A small smile came to my face. We had so much in common and people would often think she was my mother. Even mom used to tease us calling twins from different mothers because of how much we had in common and how much we looked alike.

Those were the times we had no cares in the world. Who would think life would become like this. I miss Aunty Janet we had a bond that I never had with anyone else.

Sometimes I wish that we didn't though. What would be different if we didn't look like each other? Or if we didn't share the same interests? Or if she just didn't die?

Well the obvious answer would be that things wouldn't have went downhill like it did, but would that man still have those sick desires? Or was this just because of my aunt’s death?

I was jerked back into reality when my stomach growled. I groaned as I realized I would have to get some food from downstairs meaning I would have to deal with Calvin.

I opened my door slowly careful to make any noise. I could hear the television in the living room on. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, prepared to sneak into the kitchen.

As I went downstairs, I leaned a bit over the railing to see into the living room. He was on the couch and his head was leaned to the side.

He was taking heavy breaths so I assumed he was sleeping.

I made sure to keep as quiet as possible, but move as fast as I could so I wouldn't get caught. When I finally reached the kitchen I gathered as many snacks my hands could hold and two water bottles.

The constant rustling of the snack rappers as I walked back towards the stairs make me cringe at how much noise I was making.

I froze up when I heard him cough and get up to go towards the kitchen which was where I was.

He immediately saw me, but before he could say anything I started running. I had only got to the landing of the stairs before I felt a hand wrap around my waist halting my movement and causing all the food and the two water bottles in my hand to fall to the floor.

A scream left my mouth before his big hand came to my mouth causing all noises to leave my mouth to become muffled.

I struggled, my hands and feet flailing around. I tried to bite and scratch at his hand that covered my mouth, but he still held it to my mouth.

He started moving us towards the couch and once he got there he threw me on it with the back of my head landing on the hard armrest. I moaned in pain as pain shot through my head.

“Don't you dare move,” he said through gritted teeth.

Waves of dizziness and nausea went through me as I heard the rustling of the snacks and water as he carried them towards me.

I tried to get as far away as possible from him, but he grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me back and once again grabbed me by the waist and brought me to his lap.

I continued to resist, but he had enough and slapped me across the face causing pain to erupt across my cheek and tears to leak down my burning cheek.

“Didn't I tell you to stop moving? I wouldn't have had to do that if you just behaved. Now I'm going to give you one last chance to redeem yourself before I give you more than a slap.”

At that I immediately stopped moving not wanting to feel any more pain. Tears continued to stream down my face.

“There we go, now I'm going to feed you and I expect that you will stay still and stop resisting,” I cooed at me, but it only made me cry harder.

He started to unwrap a bar and broke a piece off trying to feed me. I turned my head not wanting to give in, but he quickly grabbed my chin and cheeks with his free hand causing my mouth to open slightly which gave him enough space to shove the piece of bar into my mouth.

“Now eat or I promise you, you won't be going up to your room anytime soon,” he threatened and tightened his hold on me. Sobs racked my body throughout the whole time he fed me and I could feel his calloused hand roaming and gripping me everywhere as he continued to coo at me like a child.

I no longer had an appetite and I just want to get away from him, but even when he finished feeding me he continued with his disgusting desires to feel my body. It was now twelve o'clock in the morning and he had just fallen asleep.

I stumbled out of his lap as tears blurred my vision and hurried up to my room. I locked the door and ran to the bathroom as the nausea I felt beforehand came back full force and I threw up in the toilet.

Once I was done I laid down on the cool tile floor. I don't know how long I stayed there and cried.
 

Third Person POV

It wasn't until 2 o'clock in the morning that Violet finally got on wobbly legs from the place she was laying.

She had sat there crying for five hours unable to forget the trauma she has been through for more than three years now. She was only 16, but yet she has experienced firsthand some of the evil in this world

She no longer wanted to feel the pain, and she no longer wanted to be on this Earth anymore. It seemed as though her body could no longer produce anymore tears not even when she contemplated what she was about to do.

Violet stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and stared at herself one last time. She studied and remembered every feature. Her beauty mark, the light dust of freckles that crossed her nose and ended just below her eyes. Her black wild curly hair was out and it framed her face.

Her bright hazel eyes and caramel skin were red from crying and a bright red handprint was imprinted on her cheek.

Her skin was littered with bruises and scars both fresh and old. Her body trembled as it seemed like no matter what she did she could always feel his roaming hands.

She studied every little detail and when she was done she walked out the bathroom and went towards the back of her closet.

Moving the boxes out the way she sat down with her journal lying next her that held almost every detail about her 16 years of life.

She searched through one of the boxes until she found what she was looking for.

She shook the pill bottle that she stole from her mother's bathroom cabinet long ago that she was taking to help cope with the trauma of losing a sister. They were antidepressants and sleeping pills. They were prescribed to her at different times.

One day Violet mixed the two pills into an empty pill bottle she found. Her mother never noticed because she had stopped taking them. The only reason violet stole them three years ago was because it was when the abuse was in its early stages.

She had every intent to take those, but continued to hold it off. That was the day she promised herself that she wouldn't give up, but she could only take so much until she was led to the brink of insanity.

She unscrewed the bottle and poured almost the whole bottle into her hand some spilling in between the cracks of her fingers. She stared at pills not hesitating, but only coming up with more reasons as to why she was wanted to do this.

She had nothing for her here anymore. Maybe in the next life she would have the chance to be truly free of the evil in this cruel world.

Without another thought she threw her hand back and forced the pills down her throat. She had difficulty at first, but she continued to swallow as much as she could.

She put the journal on her lap and then she sat there and stared into space until the pills started kicking in and in no time she could feel her heartbeat slowing down and her breath became shallow. Her vision blurred as a broken smile came to face.

She no longer felt chained down and trapped.

She was finally free.