I hit the corner wall with a loud thump, parts bleeding, but I don't notice, to focused on the man in front of me whom I used to call my father. That term was used for someone special, that someone is not the form in front of me, so I am forced to be alone.

Cradling my legs, I push myself further into the wall hoping it could swallow me whole. He takes off his belt and folds it, I hurriedly get on hands and knees not wanting to be more punished than I will. He pulls his hand back and slams the belt onto the already damaged skin, creating a pool of blood. "One." I croak out in a loud voice.

I've learned, if getting whipped you must count, and if he can't hear you, 5 more. No begging or 10 more. Any resilience, 15 more. I have gotten used to this cycle and often stop focusing after 16, which leads to more. By the end I would usually fall asleep on my own river of blood. However, it's more refreshing, in a sick twisted way, because it provides me warmth compared to the 20 degrees weather.

"Thirty five." I finally finish. "Take this and wash it, bitch." He snarls throwing the belt, carelessly at my face. I nod and look at the ground that is now stained red. I hear stomping going away, and I sigh, honestly not know wheather it's the relief or the just genuine tiredness of blood loss that makes my eyes droopy.

I remember the old days. He was the kindest soul I knew. I wanted to be like him when I grew up.

*Flashback*

"DADDY!" I screamed running up to him. He grinned and picked me up. "How's my cupcake doing?" I tightened my arms around him and smiled widely. "Wey schoow was gwate, I made a new fwend, his name was Dio- Dion-D- I can't wemembew!" I pouted. He poked me on the nose and I giggled, "Tell me about him." He says eyeing me suspiciously. "Oh my god daddy! He was SO nice and he was pwetty too!" I gushed a blush planting itself on my face.

He started laughing a hardy chuckle. I giggled lightly along with him. But when I waited for him to finish, but he just continued. Soon enough it got dark, I couldn't see anything, all I could hear was him laughing sardonically. Two pair of eyes with a strong familiarity popped up, showing nothing but absolute hate. I started screaming loudly, "DADDY! DADDY?! DAD-"

*Flashback over*

I awoke gasping, and breathing erratically. I backed into the corner as I helplessly tried to wait out the undoubted panic attack, without anyone to soothe me. As it began to calm, I stared at the pond on the floor. Quickly, I got a bunch of towels and soaked off the blood. After that I grabbed a hold of the belt and limped towards the sink. I used the water running under the faucet to clean my wounds and the belt. Sadly, I'm unsure if I got all of it off as it is pitch black, so I simply set it aside and looked over at the gleaming light.

3:06 am, it said, more sleep than usual, what a lucky girl I am. I make my way over to the downstairs bathroom, careful not to wake the monster. Once fully settled in the mini restroom, I turn on the light. I look into the mirror and just stare numbly into it. Most people would gasp or even scream in horror at the sight in front of them, but I knew better, for one, this isn't even the worst I've looked before, and two, I deserve it.

I study the scars on my arms, back, stomach, and thighs. My back as well as my stomach scars are all from the monster, the arms and thighs are from a razor. I don't bother hiding it, he doesn't care. I look into my dead brown eyes, they long for love, for happiness. They should hold sadness, loss, or even terror, but they're just.....dead. I wash off any extra blood I may have not seen earlier and return to the living room. I slowly bend down to the floor, and lay down on the cold hard surface. Why I don't sleep on the couch? It is another one of the monster's retched rules. I then curl myself into a ball, desperate to find some heat, but only find searing pain in the large cuts. After a long, painful, turning and twisting time, I finally pass out from exhaustion. This has been my constant routine for every day since I was 10.