Belt

I know this probably sucks. I don't care.
I own this. Use this and fucking die.


“You’re useless!” The words crack through the air at the same time that the belt lands on my back. Crack.
“You’re worthless!” Crack.
“Good-for-nothing!” Crack.
“I wish I never had you as my child!” Crac-

I stand up, catching the belt in my hand. I’m filled with such anger that I can barely breathe. Funny how I relish that breathlessness, that walk on the fine line between reason and rage-filled insanity. For a moment I just stand there, clutching the end of the worn leather belt in my right hand and feeling the white-hot pain that pulsates through me, radiating through my body. My back may have taken most of the hits, but my father had most certainly put his all into that blow that was stopped by my hand. I’ll probably have bruises all over me tomorrow (I can already see angry red welts forming on my palm) but I don’t care. Right now, all I see is red.

When I speak my voice trembles, just slightly, though whether from anger or fear I don’t know. Is there even a difference, now…?

“I don’t care that you think I’m good-for-nothing. I couldn’t possibly give a fuck that you think I’m worthless,” I say, fixing my eyes upon his face, taking in his revolting features, bloated with alcohol and coloured with adrenaline. I refuse to look away this time. “I don’t care about all that. But if you never wanted me as your daughter, then why don’t you fucking sell me off? Trade me in for the perfect child you want. Maybe then I can be free from this hellhole.”

Right before I even finish my last sentence I find myself back on the floor. He’s raining blows on me again – my arms, my legs, my face. He doesn’t care where he lashes out at now. I cringe and try to curl up, trying to minimize the amount of skin that the belt touches, but it’s not much use. My back is weathered by the blows, such that I barely feel anything if I’m beaten there, but my arms and legs… They are more sensitive. They hurt.

A particularly hard blow to my head leaves me slipping into blessed darkness, uncomprehending of the fact that he’s still beating me, still yelling at me with words like “slut” and “filthy trash”.

I’m a slut.
I’m trash. I’m worthless.
I’m your daughter.

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