I woke up this morning with pain coursing through my body. Pain was pretty much everywhere. Mainly my stomach seeing as I got more blows there. I looked in my mirror and saw the hand print still left on my cheek. I didn't understand what I did wrong.

What did I do wrong father? I mean it's not like it was my choice to be brought in this world. It's really yours. You shouldn't be beating me up father, you should be torturing yourself.

See, so my mother left us when I was in 5th grade. She left me with my father. She didn't want me. I don't really know what happened to my father. He just, changed. Every day he would hit me. Every goddamn day. I was young and I didn't understand.

But I've learned to live with it. I've learned to take in the abuse. I just let it happen. There's no way of anything changing. It never does, never will. My father will continue beating me until one day, it all ends for me. Until he beats me to death, or I happen to 'accidentally' cut my wrist on 'something'.

No one would notice my disappearance, life would continue. Leaving me in the past, forgotten.

"Hurry up you whore!"

I quickly put my hoodie on and made my way downstairs to begin making him breakfast. I grabbed the eggs out of the fridge and began to cook them as quickly as I could before setting them on the counter and swiftly leaving making my way to school. Thankfully avoiding my overly hungover father.

Many cars passed me. Whipping cold air against my cheeks, stinging where my father had slapped me. I pulled my hood farther over my face hoping for more protection against the wind. It was a long hour walk to school. The same kids outside of their houses. Same parents that were telling them to hurry up. Same animals rushing around feeling the exciting energy.

I sigh and think about how much my life would be different if my mother would have stayed. Would I actually have a life? Would I have friends? Would my father beat me? Question after question race through my mind, but I will never get an answer to them. I know that I will never see my mother again, and I know that none of those questions would ever be granted to me right now.

As I walk onto the school grounds no one looks at me. I go unnoticed at school, well that is unless someone popular decides to 'talk' to me. I walk slowly into the school, each muscle cramping with pain. An hour long walk doesn't do any justice for your body after a beating let me tell you.

I start heading over to my locker and begin to put my combo in when my body suddenly gets slammed into the it. A searing pain goes straight to my stomach instantly making me wince. I looked up to see Taffy. Her real names like Tiffany but I call her Taffy because it fits her. She needs all that makeup to make herself look nice, same as a candy, they look all nice and dandy but there really just a piece of shit in a wrapper. So she's Taffy.

"You fucking idiot! Watch where you are going slut." She barked making a scene as her friends all laughed behind her.

I simply just ignored her, wanting all the unnecessary attention to not be focused on me. She glared at me and strutted away, her friends following her like little lost puppies. I went into my locker and grabbed my books, letting out a sigh in pain as it hurt to do so.

I walked into the bathrooms and made sure no one was in the stalls before I locked the door and lifted my sweatshirt up, exposing all of my bruises. I gently run my fingers across the scars littered across my abdomen, each one I touch brings me back to when it happened. The pain I felt, the never ending pain that my body had to endure.

There was a knock on the door. I quickly put my hoodie back on and pulled the hood up. I unlocked the door and walked around the person and quickly made my way to my class. Even if we did have assigned seating, my seat was always in the back. I plopped down in the last seat and put my head on my arms and tried to fall asleep. Tried is the key word there. This teacher is a bitch. She won't let me do anything I want to do just because I don't participate in her class. I'm pretty sure she has it out for me.

She slammed her hand down on my desk. I didn't even flinch. She reached down and grabbed my hood and began to take it off. Now that made me sit up real fast, you do not want to touch my hood. She jumped back shocked that I sat up that fast. I grabbed her wrist from my hood and pulled it off. I squeezed her wrist so hard that I knew it would leave a few bruises.

She tried to pull her hand out of my grip but couldn't. A look of panic set out across her face. I squeezed it harder and her face contorted into pain. I pushed her hand away from me and she stumbled backwards.

I sat my head back down on my desk. Something was thrown at me. I looked up only to meet the green eyes of a boy I've never seen. He had a curious look in his eyes. I just ignored him and put my head back down. I heard a chair scrape against the ground and then again closer to me.

I moved my chair away. Stupid people wanting to sit next to me. My chair suddenly was being pulled the other way. I let out an angry breath and the boy next to me chuckled.

I tried to move away again but he just pulled me back. I felt his body heat. Just perfect, I hate being this close to someone. They need to understand the point of personal bubble space.

A hand was suddenly placed on my arm and I quickly pulled it out of his reach. I jumped up off my seat and grabbed my stuff and walked right out of the room. I heard the teacher yelling my name but I didn't care. I just kept walking. Fuck this school.