Sorry, Wrong Number Kid (Avengers)

10

Your father stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and pounced on you on the floor, driving his fist into your face over, and over, and over. You could feel you nose cracking and blood pouring from many wounds.

"If you don't I'll do that all over your body and you'll never see the light of day again." He gritted, kicking you one more time before standing up bad waking up the stairs. Now alone in your thoughts, you took five minutes to cry your hearts content.

That's what you told yourself. 5 minutes then you gotta control yourself. You were honestly surprised at the light punishment received, usually worse was deemed for such a big fault. Quickly, just wanted to escape that hellhole, you walked up the stairs and began to organize the kitchen. You could barley stand, your vision was blurry, and you were bleeding everywhere. But you didn't care.

Cleaning the dishes, taking out the trash, sweeping the floor, cleaning both bathrooms, you were almost done. You gimped slightly into the living room, where both your parents were, to pick up the empty beer bottles and chip bags.

"Get out of the way!" Your mother shouted while throwing a beer bottle directly in your face. It shattered on impact and you felt two pieces pierce into your cheek, one of them cutting all the way through for you could feel it with your tongue.

You gathered the trash and stumbled into the kitchen, fighting the urge to pass out. There was no way you were pulling that glass out, it was way to deep.

"I'm done father." You whispered. He stoop up and walked over to the kitchen, seeing it spick spot clean like it always was, just to get messed up immediately after. Somehow he finally look pleased for once.

"Good. Now get in the basement and stay there. No dinner for you tonight." He said sternly while leading you to the basement. He pushed you in and slammed the door, locking it form the outside.

"Not like you ever give me dinner." You mumbled while gimping down the steps. You feared you wouldn't make it to the car. At the pace you were at now it was going to be difficult the pain and exhaustion would not allow you to phase quickly, your limp was back from the torment your father caused on your knee. You just needed to get away.

You sighed while grunting your way to the vent, only now realizing you only had a bra on as you walked over your torn shirt. Letting a single tear fall you whimpered while jumping up to the vent, scooting your way out slowly.

You only wished you could flop down in the grass and pass away, but you had to fulfill your promise. Grabbing your backpack you took out the tank top, still stained with blood from the night a few days previous. You winced as the ragged material hooked on your fresh wounds. Your body was so over-stimulated from the taser you feared you would collapse as your shaky legs guided you down the sidewalk. Not caring of the large bruise and many cuts on your face along with the glass in your cheek.

With your clothing not even half your wounds were visible, most being hid under your torn up sweatpants and under your thin tank top. The only ones showing are the ones across your upper back, your neck, shoulders, and both arms. So if someone looked hard enough they would see the words failure and useless engraved in you, the handprints and bruises lacing your arms, the incision sights in your shoulder from the reattachment of your left arm. And the many more lacing your body.

You grunted in pain as you finally saw the slick black car in the far distance. As the car got larger and larger, your body seemed to get smaller and smaller.

You were so close, yet so far.
And your world faded into darkness.

Avengers Third person POV