The Pajama Kid

Chapter Thirteen- Tired

This is Freddie's PoV- I just published a chapter before this so check that out if you haven't.

I'm sorry.

[...]

Freddie's POV

Pain shoots up the side of my face, seeping from my cut lips. My eyes close, the sharp burn shrieking in my ears like a poisonous melody.

Blood.
The taste.
The sight.
The smell.
Everything.

Scarlet liquid trickles down, from a gash under my eye, to the bottom of my trembling chin.

A kick to the ribs.
Pain.
A punch to the face.
Pain.
An burning flame licking my skin.
Unimaginable pain.

Benny is out, at an interview, for an university he is desperate to attend. He didn't want to leave me, fearful yet disappointed, but I told him not to worry; that I'll be okay; that I won't get into trouble.

Mother sits at the bottom of the stairs, fiddling with her new iPhone and picking at her manicured nails. Dry trails of tears filter down her face, the result of an outbreak at dinner; the reason for my current torture.

I forgot to pray before I started eating the miserable food she served us. Then, to make matters worse, a little bit of sick came out when I took my first bite- squishy meat and uncooked pastry.

Father wasn't pleased.

My phone starts to ring, startlingly loud compared to my timid breathing and father's tempered growls.

It's Will.

I go to answer it- to tell him I'm busy- but father grabs it before I have a chance. His spongy hands grip the fragile device and hurl it at the nearest corner, close to my mother's head.

She screams, a pitchy sound that only heightens my throbbing headache.

Father yells at her 'shut up woman', to which she silences instantly; cradling her phone in her lap.

He approaches me again, with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. His movements are swift, erratic, unrestrained- a man of pure anger. I know that it will all be over soon, when he clutches the end of the cigarette between his fingers and brings it closer to my bare arm.

Pain shoots through me, once again. A deep burn forming from the intense heat in contact with my skin.

Spitting at my broken body, he storms up the stairs, my mother giggling behind him, and slams their bedroom door shut.

I don't know how she can sleep with him after witnessing such evil.

I somehow make my way to my broken bedroom, collapsing on my creaking bed. Blood trails down my weak body, soaking into my sheets.

Colourful dots swirl in front of my eyes- melding into black- my eyelids close-

I feel so tired.