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November's P.O.V

There were 10 minutes till English ends and till I'm allowed to go home, but with everyone acting bitchy to the teacher, she decided to keep us in for an extra 30 minutes to replace the amount of time she wasted trying to settle everyone down.

As soon as she decided to keep us in longer, I knew straight away that I would be getting a really bad beating from my father. He hates when I am late from school because there is no one to cook him his dinner. 

He gets too drunk to be able to stand long enough to cook anything. I start to panic, I was barely recovering from the beating this morning. Who could I recover from another one?

I tried telling my teacher that my father would be furious, but I left the beating part out because my father said if I go to the police or tell anyone, he would kill me and torture me slowly. 

The sad part is that I believe him, so that's why I don't talk about it and I am definitely not telling the teacher about my real excuse.

But of course, she says no and to go back to my seat. I was terrified, just imagining what he is going to do to me. He may use the whip or belt or his cigarettes and dig it into my skin. The last time he did that it hurt like a bitch. 

I try not to show him my pain because, for some sick reason, he enjoys it. After every single beating he gives me, I cry myself to sleep and snuggle into my chest to feel somewhat comfortable.

The last 30 minutes of the class went by in a blur as I couldn't stop thinking about what my father will do. I collected my books from my locker and started to walk home while listening to Alarm by Anne-Marie, I need somewhat of a boost. 

20 minutes later I finally reached my house. Before my foot even touched the floor, I was pulled harshly inside. I look up and see my father with a face of pure rage. I saw a whip in his hand and a cigarette in his other hand. OH MY FUCKING GOD I'M DEAD.

My father dragged me by my hair to the living room and kicked me into the couch. My already bruised ribs took a hit. I could feel him whipping my back 10 times and digging the cigarette on my arms and legs. 

My entire body was in agony and the pain was excruciating. Although I am not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. It would only lead him to create more damage upon my already bruised body.

After an hour of continuous whips and his lit cigarette, he finally stopped.

He screams at me "You worthless, fucking bitch! Make me my fucking dinner! Now bitch!" 

After his little rant, he stormed off to his room. No doubt going to drink, yet again. 

I tried my hardest to get up, but there was a large pool of my own blood all around me. I felt like I was about to die, I just couldn't move. I stayed laying in my living room floor, restless in my blood and passed out right there.