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Girl-17-Bullied-Shy-Hated-Called names-everything in the book

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1. Day 1.

By the time lunch has rolled around, I have a a few more bruises going up and down my arms, from Kyle, Stella, and Mike. Mike and I used to be so close. Such best friends. Now he hates me to the point he beats me. Very hard. I was in the hospital last week, he broke one of my ribs when he kicked me, then repeated to punch me in the face, in the court yard. Thirty minutes this time, before someone came to help. Thirty minutes of the beating. I didn't tell my father. He was an abusive drunk himself. After mom dyed thats how it was. I was beaten at school. I'd come home, find my dad past out on the couch and when he woke up, he'd beat me. I never told anyone. Ever. How could I? He was my father, as bad as he was. I couldn't bear to lose him too.If I was taken away, or my lord took him. I couldn't handle it than. Not alone. Not again. I huddled in my room, just waiting. Silently waiting, for his foot steps down the hall. Than the beating to start, and not end for a good two hours, before he'd go back to his beer, and I could stand outside to smoke a cigarette and calm down. Stop myself from crying, because if I did anything to loud he'd beat me again, and scream "Shut the fuck up you useless fucking ass hole of a daughter. You should have been a fucking boy, your a disgrace to this family." I use my hands to cover my ears to shut him out, while he punches and kicks me. The sound of his fist against my body, haunt me in my dreams. Every punch, every kick, every swear, everything he's ever done, sting to my memory EVERY night. I pray, as I her his foot steps near my room. He rips the door open. Than it starts. He kicks me and says "You are finally home  you disgrace." Then he punches me nonstop. He never stops. Never when I cry out in pain, never when I bleed. He hit my lip, and kicked me in the stomach. I held in tears, and let him kick and punch me, swearing in between every kick, and every punch. Finally, after he is very out of breath, he lays back into the couch, and turns on the sports channel, he cracks open a beer, and passes back out. I grab my pack from my desk drawer, and silently walk outside. My legs hurt very badly and I can't take any deep breaths, with out it feeling like someone is jabbing a knife into me. Slowly I bring the cigarette to my mouth. Small puffs of smoke. My lip is cut, I have a black eye, and my ribs are bruised, and theres a red hand print over my right cheek. I sneak back inside and go straight to my room. Locking the door, I pack my bags. 

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