It's a Fvcked up World

It's a Fvcked up World

First of all, I'd like to apologise to everyone who I have hurt by making this. I need to get this off my chest. The main character is based on me. I changed the name, of course, but everything else is true. Don't read this until you want to have disgusting details. I'm being brave, writing this, so I might as well go all the way.

Alex(goobpet), if you're reading this, I'm sorry.

Chapter 1

What Did I Do?

It all started when I was ten. My sister started taking drugs, disregarding every bad thing about drugs she's ever been told of. She died, like everyone had said, by inhaling too much dust-off, which shut her brain off.

I didn't mourn too much. I was ten, and she liked to steal my lollipops. In my childish mind, she deserved what she got. I wore black at the funeral, and I cried one tear, as her body was buried.

My mom left shortly after, saying "she couldn't live with someone that looked so like her little angel" even though I didn't look a bit like my sister. My sister had fair golden hair, and blue eyes. I had wavy black hair, and emerald eyes. Our faces, looked a bit the same, but still.

My father, unable to handle the grief, started drinking. At first, it was okay, just the occansional slap when I irritated him when he was drunk. But, as he got deeper and deeper into harder liquors, it progressed. Sometimes, it was just a beating, when he was in a bad mood, sometimes it was being locked in my room.

I learned to hide from him. I, being a child, wanted to avoid it. I mean, what did I do to deserve it? It progressed from there. He started finding me, and tying me up before I could jump away with my greater agility. I went to public school at the time, so when I got home, he would wait by the door, drag me to my room, and tie me up. Sometimes he beat me, sometimes he left me to starve.

Then my brother died. I cried openly at his funeral, not caring if I showed emotion to my father. By this time, my mind had grown past the immature one it had been so little ago.

That night was different. I waited for him to tie one wrist to the bedpost and leave me. I actually wanted him to. I didn't want to live, if the only brother I liked was dead.

But he didn't do what I expected him to. He tied my left wrist, then moved behind me. I was wearing a strapless zip-up, at the time. He un-zipped it, then shoved me forward, forcing me to a standing postition,though my balance was precarious.

The dress fell off. It had been my older sister's and I didn't quite fit into it just yet. I stood standing in my undies. I had grown into a bra, so I wore one as well.
My father grunted slightly, before unclipping my bra. I slapped an arm over my bare flesh, suprised, but also suspicious of what was going to happen. "This is punishment for you killing your brother and sister," he said, which confused me. My sister died of OD, my brother in a war in iraq. How was that my fault?

He yanked me back before I could respond, and in the process I threw my arm backwards to break my fall. I hit my head on the bedpost hard enough to stun me, and my father took advantage of this. He had my hands tied, and my undies off before my mind stopped spinning.

He licked his lips disgustingly as he looked at me. I stared back at him, wide-eyed. He reached for the hem of his shirt, and drew it over his head. I blinked as things started to click in my head. Oh god. Please, no.

He unbuckled his belt, and I started struggling, yanking my wrists and twisting my body away from him. "That's right, honey. I like a fighter," he grunted, his hand stroking himself, while the other pushed his pants off. Oh, no.

He shucked his undies, forced me onto my back, and rose ontop of me. I struggled more, tears streaming down my face. "Shush, honey. This will be good, I promise," my father whispered in a sick attempt of comfort, as he settled on top of me.

His body touched mine, invaded mine. I froze for a second, before the pain of his overlarge body in my undersized one sent me writhing again. The pain increased sharply. I gasped, wheezed, slammed my eyes shut, and forced my body to calm, to relax. The pain lessened a bit.

My father grunted, shoving his body more deeply into mine. I clenched my teeth, drawing deep breaths through my nose, counting each one. "Oh, god, baby. You're so tight...." my father wheezed. I felt his body growing inside mine, and the pain increased again. A single tear slipped out.

"Oh, god!" he shouted, as his body spasmed. I clenched my teeth as his body grew in mine, and he collapsed on top of me. He was heavy, and I was frail, delicate.

He stayed there for a moment, before withdrawing, and getting off the bed. I turned my face away from him, and stared at the wall blankly. The tension on my wrists faded, and my arms fell to the pillow weakly, as the knots were undone. I didn't move. I stared blankly. I heard my father chuckle once, before leaving the room.

I couldn't move for the longest time. Pain rippled through me, both physical, and emtional. What had I done to deserve this? What did I do?

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