Perfect people don't exist

Chapter 1

A pic of Carter.

Carter:

He slammed my head against the wall roughly, I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw, not daring to make a noise.

"Get out of my sight before I really give you something to cry about," he growled.

I nodded my head gratefully as I ran up stairs to my room. My head pounding from being hit against the wall. I looked at myself in the mirror and lifted my shirt up. "Fat". The word swam around my head as I gulped. Bruises littered my skin. I didn't want to but before I knew it tears began spilling from my eyes. "Suck it up, you deserve it," I told myself. "This would have never happened if you were never born". I thought for a minute.

"None of it would have," I admitted to myself in the mirror.

The light was fading outside and soon enough there would be no light at all in my room. I went to flip the switch on the wall but nothing happened. Of course. He didn't pay for the bill, again. I grabbed a match from my desk and swiped it against the box, lighting a candle. I pulled out my books and pencil case then got to work on my homework.

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By the time I finished I thought my hand would fall off or something. It was still only 7 at night. Great. I wend back downstairs expecting my father to be passed out on the couch. I thought wrong.

I quickly ducked as a flying green bottle came towards me. It hit the wall and shattered, I flinched at the sound and then turned to him.

"I need more beer," he demanded.

I grabbed my coat from the stand and left. It was dark but the street lights lit up the street, all the way to the booze shop. Even the streets had more light than my own room did. The thought concerned me but then again who was I to complain. My thoughts always turned to how it would all be better if I were not alive. I wasn't suicidal or anything, it's just. If I weren't alive then my mother wouldn't be dead, my dad wouldn't be an abusive alcoholic, everything might just be a little bit better. Maybe.

I pulled out some cash, I had enough to buy at least two 12 packs. I walked in and grabbed the brand he liked. I payed the cashier and then left, mumbling a thank you.

"Fag! You better have my drinks!" He slurred when I entered the door.

I nodded and handed him the bag. He slapped my face, causing my head to jerk to the left. I raised my hand to the stinging pain. What now!?

"Only two cases!?' He screeched.

I nodded again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know haw many you wanted, p-please just calm down. I'll get more tomorrow," I pleaded, not wanting to get another beating.

"You can never do anything right! I mean of course you can't your just a worthless piece of nothing. A waste of space!" He spat but then began chuckling and I didn't like the sound of that.

"Boy, you won't be able to go back to the store tomorrow, when I'm done with you!"

I wish I could call that an empty threat, sadly it never is.

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I woke up shivering and abrupt. This wasn't my bedroom. I rubbed at my eyes to rub the sleep out of them, so I could at least see something. This was the bathroom. How did I get in here?

Soon enough the memories from last night came rushing back.

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He gripped another beer bottle and threw it at me, this time I didn't miss it. I wanted to run but that never gets me anywhere. He stomped towards me, I could feel the heat radiating off him. I fucked up this time. He grabbed my throat and lifted me off the ground, but barely.