5

•Elisia•

Fuck.

I completely forgot about how I had talked to mama on my way out. The way they're glaring at me right now, I know something bad is going to happen. If looks could kill, I would have been dead by now.

I can feel the panic slowly rising up my throat and spreading as I breathe. I can't help but let the old secluded memories-that I had forcefully shoved away-rush through my head like a tsunami.

My body hurts like hell. It's stings so bad, I can't fucking move.

I stay there for two hours, on the fucking kitchen floor. Yet, papa and mama don't come to help me. No one comes.

I'm suffering all alone with no one to comfort me or at least tell me that I'll get through this. I'm tired of giving myself hope, I need someone else to tell me I'll be okay now.

The ache in my back and face were getting worse by the second. I'm so tired of feeling like this, feeling like some hostage in my own home. It's as if these motherfuckers kidnapped me, because there's no way someone could treat their child this badly.

I wish things weren't like this, so complicated, messy, and abusive. I'm only fucking sixteen and I want a life, a life I badly want to experience.

I want to be a normal teenager, I want to go out, I want to go to those stupid football games, I want to have my first kiss, I want to fall in love, I want to live, I want to feel alive, and I want to feel freedom.

No child should have to go through what I feel right now. It's degrading. I wish this type of pain upon no one. I must've done something wrong in my past life, to deserve a life this cruel.

But there's no way anyone deserves this, so why me?

"Elisia!" Papa speaks, cutting me out of my horrific flashbacks. My chest rises up and down heavily, absolutely terrified for what my soul might have to endure tonight.

I can't do this, not again.

"Papa-" I couldn't find the strength in me to finish my sentence after he started taking long, strong, and menacing steps towards me. His cold hand clutches itself onto my wrist harshly, and pulls me towards kitchen.

No.

Please.

I try pulling back, but he's much stronger than me, both physically and mentally. I attempt prying my wrist out his rough hold-the hold that no father should ever have on his daughter. But each time, his hand would only tighten around me.

All of the time I had spent training in his basement felt useless. I felt useless because nothing was working. I suddenly felt frozen and tense...and weak.

Before I even realized, we were in the kitchen and he basically threw me across the floor. I could feel the thick, stinging tears in the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill out with every blink.

My throat felt as if it were closing up and my heart felt like it physically cracked. Like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it over my heart, again and again.

I pushed back all of my emotions and stood up, only to see papa grinning and mama behind him, also smiling.

Abuse is fucking funny?

"You can't do this shit anymore. I'm a fucking adult now. And you two," I sneer, motioning between them, "I could fucking send you to jail for all the crap you've put me through."

I don't know where these empty threats are going. Everyone in this goddamn room knows I don't have the balls to do it. Even if I did, my parents wouldn't stay in jail for long because of their fucking connections.

"We both know you won't do any of that, cariño." Papa smiles, knowingly. (sweetie.)

And I fucking hate myself for it.

I couldn't find it in me to send my parents to jail, even if they'd get out within a day. No matter how badly they've hurt me, they are still my mama and papa. These monsters are unfortunately my childhood, and I don't think I'm ready to give up on them yet.

There is a spark of hope in my heart, that one day, maybe they will realize how horribly they have treated me. And they will ask for my forgiveness. I hate to say it, but my inner child would accept their apology within seconds.

It's the sad, pathetic truth of my life.

When I don't respond, papa moves forward, making his way to me again.

I hate you.

I wanted to say it aloud, but every piece of strength gathered in me, had flown away with the wind. Leaving as helpless and unable to defend myself as the wind.

His hand raises to slap me, my cheek stinging as my head flies to the right, but I don't fall to the ground. I don't want to feel the defeat again and neither do I want them to feel the victory of seeing me fall.

He hits me again. And again. With more force and anger each time.

He makes sure to not hit me in the same spot on my face, knowing it will leave marks and bruises, which would be too risky. He's a fucking expert at this.

When he finally realizes that I'm not falling to the ground, he calls over to my mama, "Sujeta a la perra." (Hold the bitch down.)

My vision was getting blurrier by the second, but I didn't dare let the tears fall. I will give my fucking all to never cry in front this man again.

I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me as some pathetic little girl again.

Never again in hell.

Mama makes her way over to me and grabs my forearms, brutally. She forces me to turn around, and her eyes hold no remorse or guilt for doing this to her own daughter. Instead, all I see is pure entertainment and evilness.

Mama and papa were both taller than me, so it didn't take much for them to get me to stay still.

I knew what was coming next and I internally laughed at myself.

How could I be so dumb?

Fucking stupid, to ever think that they could love you.

I heard papa's belt sliding off his trousers. He wrapped it around his hand, making sure the metal part was still dangling. He knew the metal would hurt more when hitting me.

And then, he made the first strike.

I squeezed my eyes shut, making sure not a single fucking tear escaped. He hit me again and again with that stupid belt of his.

Until it all stopped.

Finally.

My mama let go of me and it seemed like papa had left too.

Then, there was complete silence.

All over again.

My head felt like it was spinning. I thought I was going to black out, but I couldn't. Because no here would bother helping me. I had to help myself right now, I had to be strong for myself.

Again, I sat on the kitchen floor for hours until I finally had the energy to get back up.

I dragged my feet up the stairs, feeling like I was going to pass out from pain any second now.