Page 7 of Creep
Anger courses through my veins and any fear I had is now quickly being replaced by the toxicity surrounding me.
“Pimping out your daughter to pay off your debts? That’s the lowest of lows you fucking fiend. Y’all will really do anything for those fucking drugs you love so much, won’t you?” I scoff in disgust and cross my arms over my chest, hoping the act will help calm me down and maybe bring me comfort.
“But it’s not like I have a fucking choice in anything, anyway, right?” I sneer at him. Nothing is helping to curb the anger I’m feeling. It’s devouring me and there is only one thing I know will help, but in order to do it, I have to wait for him to hurry the fuck up and leave.
He continues to stare at me with a bored expression while I’ve been trying to process all of this bullshit he spewed.
“Exactly sweetheart.” he sniggers. “You don’t have a fucking choice. You never have and you never will. Besides, this arrangement doesn’t get you away from me, so you don’t even have that to look forward to.
“No one fucking wants you. Not me, not your mother, not even Holley. You’re a waste of fucking space and a goddamn mistake that never should’ve survived. If your dumbass mother would have listened to me, you wouldn’t even be sitting here right now. But it’s fine, because I make up for her mistake every time I stick my dick inside of you. It’s the only thing you’re good for, anyway.”
I fucking lose it. I scream and run to him, throwing my fists towards his face. I can’t fucking believe how sick in the head he is, and I want nothing more than to fucking kill him. Enough is enough. In my fit of rage, my fist connects with his jaw and I hear a crack. Pain flares through my hand and up my entire arm, but I don’t fucking stop—what’s a little pain when the end result is so great.
I keep swinging aimlessly, hoping to hurt him in any way I can. I can’t focus on anything other than that. I need to hurt him like he’s hurt me over the years, but much to my frustration, it doesn’t last nearly as long as I had hoped before he yanks my wrists behind my back, both locked in his tight grasp. He spins us around until my back crashes into the wall. He grips my chin hard enough to bruise.
“You think you're tough enough to put your hands on me? If I were you, I’d think twice before doing something like that again. You can be mad all you want, but you don’t have a fucking choice so don’t waste your energy. I’m sure you’ll want to preserve it for when you’re with him. Unless you want Holley to trade places with you, hm?” He brings his head down to the same level as mine and raises his brow in question, knowing he has me backed into a fucking corner.
“Huh, sweetheart? You want me to go talk to Holley instead since you seem to be so against the idea? I’ll make her stay and quit college to pay my fucking debt, Essa. Don’t push me. Or if you decide to be fucking stupid after she leaves, I’ll drag her ass back home.” I can barely breathe with how tight he is gripping my chin, my neck angled up as far as it can go. I manage to shake my head no just enough for him to notice, but I can’t let him have the last word—not when he keeps bringing Holley into it when it has nothing to do with her.
“Fuck you, you disgusting piece of shit. Leave Holley the hell alone. You already know I’ll do whatever I can to protect her so just leave her out of it.” He shoves my face away from his hand, as if I’m the one who is fucking disgusting.
He trails his index finger down my neck to my cleavage, which just so happens to be exposed in the black tank top I put on for bed not even twenty minutes ago. His finger moves lower in between my boobs, moving up and down, tracing my skin back and forth. I keep screaming at myself to move, but just as quickly as it came, the anger is gone and replaced with my constant fucking companion, fear.
I have never felt more disgusted with myself and in that moment, I snap out of it and smack his hand away. My emotions always come barreling back and forth like the continuous flicker of a light switch.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” My stomach is churning with the need to vomit and beads of sweat trail down my spine. I need him to leave right now. I need to process this, if it’s even something that can be done.
No, fuck that. I need to bleed. I need the pain.
“Get the fuck out of my room you piece of shit druggie. You got what you wanted, now leave me the fuck alone.” My chest heaves with my anger.I’m giving myself fucking whiplash with the constant back and forth of feelings.
I flick my eyes to his retreating back in surprise when he turns around and walks to my door. He opens it but glances back at me before leaving.
“I’ll leave you alone for now, but I won’t forget what you just said to me and you’ll fucking pay for it. Not a word of this to anyone. If a single person finds out, your sister will trade places with you, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I fucking hear you. Now get out.”
He smirks at me, trailing his eyes down my body again and then leaves, closing my door behind him. I have goosebumps all over my body and not the good ones. The kind that makes you feel like you want to crawl out of your own skin. I’m so fucking disgusted with myself.
I wish I had the power to fight back, more than just with my words, but that pesky fear takes over every time I even think about it. I want to fight back against my parents, hell, even against myself for being so fucking weak.
I desperately need to forget the last twenty minutes, at least for a while anyway. I lean over to my nightstand and pull out my knife. I flick it open and watch the blade sparkle as it hits the light just right. I twirl it around in my hand, my thoughts dragging me further into my own head.
Every voice inside of my head is screaming at me. Desperately needing to drown them, I bring the blade down to my arm, pushing hard and sweeping it across my skin in a flurry. White hot flames shoot up my arm as I see my flesh being torn open. It’s fucking brutal but I can’t help but to smile as I watch the sight.
Pain is so fucking beautiful.
Pain.
In a matter of seconds, I go from freaking the fuck out about my entire existence, to not giving a shit about anything and just basking in the bliss pain brings. I may not be an addict like my parents, but I sure as fuck have my drug of choice.
I lose count of how many cuts I give myself and drop the blade when I feel myself losing my grip on it—either from the blood being too slippery or because of the numbness which travels through my body.
I fall to the side and collapse on my pile of blankets. I lay, staring at the wall, thinking about absolutely fucking nothing. I know it won’t last long, but in a few days, hell maybe even a few hours for all I know, my whole life is going to be turned upside down,again.
3
Essa
