A/N: although currently only 1 person is reading (haha thanks @rosietocked) i wanted to apologize for not updating. Swim is now in season, and that means insanity.
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He wrapped me in a hug, and wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumb.
"Hey, it's okay." Tenderly, he took the envelope and read it. A mix of pain and anger washed over his face.
"This is worse than I thought."
"What's going to happen to me?" I asked, my lip wobbling, a hard, hot lump forming in my throat.
"To you?"
I finished. I tried to swallow the hot lump, trying to get control of my emotions. You're smooth, and in control. Finally I managed to stop crying, and took a deep breath. He warned me, and held me close. Sunlight washed into the room, making everything a hazy yellow. I felt his calm heart beat, and his deep breaths. They were calming, predictable and easy. I matched his pace, and before long I fell asleep.
I was nine, and standing in my dad's room. It was 'Stepdad'.
"Carter Marie get your ass in here." he barked.
"Yes?"
"Where the hell is your mom?"
"She left us 6 months ago Jacob..."
"Don't you lie to me!"
"But Dad-"
"AGAIN WITH THE LYING!"
I bit my lip, hard. Soon, a warm, metallic-y taste greeted my tongue. He unbuckled his belt, and raised it over his head. The thick leather sliced the air, whizzing across the musty, dank, foul air, and a deep sting burned my back. Again and again. I yelped it pain, and tears poured down my cheeks as he screamed profanities and that belt whirred repeatedly down onto my sides, thighs and back.
Screaming. Wails and sobs beat my chest and echoed the silent air.
"Is everything alright?!" Spencer cried.
"No." I whipped my head back and forth violently.
"It was just a dream, shhh." He murmured quietly, stroking my hair, his voice washing over me, a calming influence.
"What- what was it about?"
I hugged my arms.
"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed..."
"No, it's okay. It was, about my father. Here, it's better to show you." Slowly, I pulled the back of my shirt up, but not so that it was taken off, just below my bra strap revealing multiple scars. His fingers traced along one.
"Carter, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to-" he trailed off. I pulled my shirt back down.
"My Dad... He uh, had bipolaric dissociative identity disorder. One was a slap happy, completely optimistic, sunshine/rainbows/candy/unicorns, dad. The other was a stoic, scary, sadistic 'stepdad' who beat me to a pulp. He had bipolar, but then when I was 9 my mom left, and he split into two."
I brushed tears away with the back of my hands.
"My mom... She had schizophrenia. My dad left us when I was ten, he left a note explaining why he left." He said bitterly. "As if that makes up for what he did."
I didn't know what to say. And sometimes, when you don't know what to say, there's really nothing left to say...