True P.O.V

Birthdays. Most people make a big deal over the "celebration" of aging another year and symbolizing that your death is a year closer than a year ago. Me? Since I was little my birthday wasn't widely celebrated, meaning no one celebrated it. I think I was eight the last time I even remotely expected a birthday celebration, and I was most definitely not expecting one today.

After my siblings found out dad was in the mafia, I got bored and went to my 'room' and laid on my small ass bed. I knew my younger siblings were shocked but I didn't feel like explaining to Chris how I knew but I most definitely didn't want him to know I knew he was as well because of when his two buddies came and decided glass looks nice in pale skin, even though I knew before then that he was in the mafia.

The irony of life, huh.

When I was six I really, really wanted a stuffed animal that looked like a puppy since it was clear I'd never get a real puppy, I got a single case of play-dough instead, and through I was thankful for the present, I had still wanted that stuffed dog.

Childhood dreams truly are something.

Yeah, something evil.

I was actually hoping my family had forgotten it was my birthday like they always do, but deep down I was secretly hoping they knew or even remotely remembered but when I woke up at seven reality was here to hit me in the face. Hard.

Huh, who knew reality was my father's fist.

A hard fist slammed into my nose, and an instant noise filled the air, in another moment blood began to gush out of my nose in a steady stream, it isn't very fucking pleasant. Another fist punched my jaw which made it sort of slack, becoming generally useless to me. Dad wrapped his hands around my throat choking the life and air out of me, I instantly brought my hands up to his to try and pry his hands off my throat, desperate for air, but all my father did was tighten his hold. I was gasping for even the slightest amount of air, before he loosened ever so slightly allowing air to flow ever-so-slightly but it wasn't enough, I needed more air but I wasn't going to push it as dad has willing gave me air, taken air should be a given and that he had taken my air away in the first place but . . . Whatever?

That's when I finally took in detail's of my father's appearance, he looked like shit. He was covered in bruises and I knew who they were from, Alister. Staring at him seemed to piss him off. I shouldn't have pissed him off as he instantly tightened his hold on my throat yet again, applying more pressure than before.

"Like what you see?!?" He fumed at me, anger apparent in his eyes. "This is your fault!!! I wish you were never born!!!" I already knew that but for a moment I was trapped in a daze.

I wish I hadn't been born too.

I knew the voice shouldn't have been right, but it felt like what it was telling me was the truth. I shouldn't have been born, I should have succeeded in the suicide. I'm a failure to both myself and everyone else.

A couple more seconds without air and tiny black dots slowly appear on my vision, I was slowly losing consciousness, and the blood was still pouring out of my nose, a little thinner than before it was still pouring out and I knew dad's hands were covered in my blood.

I felt one of dad's hands remove itself from my neck and for a moment a small gust of air flowed from my throat to my lungs. I had thought that the removal of one of his hands would be a good thing, until his hand landed, on my thigh.

"You look just like your mother . . ." Dad muttered most likely to himself, as his hand went up and down in a streaking motion on my right inner thigh. Like the blood, tears began to flow a steady path down my face.

I was afraid, but at that moment I was glad that I knew that, that was aware enough to sense that I was afraid but I didn't want to be afraid I wanted to be confident, to be stronger, I wanted to be free. Why couldn't I be free??

Dad's hand around my throat loosened, as his other hands became rougher against my right inner thigh, fear running through my body as the choking hand not only released my throat they hoisted me up into the air, wrapped around wrists and had me dangling in the air, a couple inches off the ground. Tears streaming down my face mixed with blood.

Dad stared at me, scanning my face and looked me up and down, disgust filling my veins. Please let me go . . .

Like I said, wishes never come true. Especially those made on your birthday. Wishes are meant to be let down. I'm meant to be broken because I'm always seeming to be falling apart, I guess I'm used to it by now. Who couldn't be used to it by now??

If your smart enough you can kind of assess that dad didn't let me go, instead he gripped my wrists as tightly as possible, or it seemed that way to me. He pulled me up close to his face, and leaned towards my ear, a whisper escaping his lips, " It time you get the punishment you truly deserve." Before I knew it his hands still wrapped around my wrist moved to put me in a neck lock position, his hand clamping over my mouth while the other was wrapped around my waist, he pushed me out of my room, determination in every step he took. It took me only a couple seconds before I figured out where exactly he was dragging to me, and when I finally figured it out, fear shot through me.

The basement.

Happy Birthday to me.

Unknown P.O.V

It's always that one moment in a lifetime when your life and someone you don't know what-so-ever seem to clash together, and it's in that one moment when your life, your future, your destiny is in their hands, there controlling what happens, whether they know it or not. We silently urge them to do whats best, for everyone. It doesn't, however, always end well for the one in the bad situation that is pleading to another.

For some, the cards are being played just right.

For others . . .

The game had just begun.