Closer to the Clouds up Here ~a ddlovato fanfiction


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1. p a i n

(1)Pain

Pain. That was all my body could register. It took every ounce of strength left in me not to scream out in pain. But I couldn't help that. It wasn’t my fault. It was his. It had to be his fault, right? Surely I didn't deserve this pain? But maybe I did… Maybe it was my fault.

 

I was jerked from my thoughts by another blow to the face. Except this time, I could feel something warm escape from the corner of my eye. I put my index and middle finger to my eye and pulled it away. Most people, I suppose, would be surprised to see that the warm liquid was blood. But not me. I was used to this. I sighed and wiped the thick substance into my black jeans.

 

I glanced up, instantly regretting my decision to make eye contact with the monster that was my father. He grinned, his smile gappy where he was missing teeth from the last time I fought back. It's safe to say that I haven't done that again, he scarred me for that… But I have a feeling we’ll get onto that later. He brought his arm back and I had but a split second to shield  my face from his now empty beer bottle. I cowered under my right arm, trying but failing to stop the bottle from harming me. It shattered upon impact, the tiny fragments of tinted glass falling to the ground around me in no particular pattern.

 

I shuffled my weight onto both of my trembling arms. I could feel my eyelids getting heavier, which meant he had probably hit me hard enough to make me pass out soon. My vision was blurred but I could just make out the silhouette of my father making his way back into the dimly lit kitchen. Should I do it? Should I try to escape from this hell that is my everyday life? I looked toward the front door of my house, it seemed to be slightly ajar. I bit my lip to stop myself screaming out as I stood to my feet shakily.

 

I walked around the coffee table that was covered in filthy plates and brown bottles and to the coat rack. I pulled on my mother’s leather jacket quietly and picked up my boots, not bothering to spend time on putting them on. I took a wary glance backwards and saw that he was emerging from the kitchen.

 

“Shit,” I mumbled to myself, looking frantically for my mobile phone.

 

“Marceline,” he slurred. I winced at the sound of my name coming from his drunken lips, “where are you? I have needs, y’know…”

 

I felt sick to my stomach. That could only mean one thing. I turned slowly on my heel, now facing my ticket out of the house. I took a shaky breathe in and held it, stepping forward slightly.

 

I can do this. I thought to myself.

 

Ha, no you can't. You're worthless, Marcy. You couldn't make it out of here alive, even if he was dead. It thought back.

 

“Shut up!” I screamed. Realising only when it was too late that I had said it aloud.

 

“How dare you tell your father to shut up!” He screamed, his drunken slur dissolving with each word. He stormed over to me and grabbed me by my long, thick hair.

 

“I- I'm sorry…” I managed to stutter out, while trying to keep my tears from falling.

 

“Sorry ain't gonna cut it this time you little slut,” he roared, dragging me back to the sitting room.

 

“P- Please… I'm b- begging you…” My legs were fighting him, my arms holding onto his so that he didn't hurt me too much more. “S- Stop. For the love of a daughter, p- please… Stop.”

 

By this point, my tears were uncontrollable. They were falling down my face and smudging my mascara and eyeliner. You always manage to surprise me with how pathetic you sound. It glowered.

 

“Don't you DARE try to get out of this,” my father threw me to the ground.

 

My head collided with the coffee table, and I heard a scream – maybe it was mine? I don't know if it was or not, but the last thing I saw before blacking out was the unbuckling of his belt.

 

In some ways, I am thankful that I was unconscious for the remainder of that night.

 

 

 

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