His Mission

Chapter One - Your death left me battered and bruised.

Pain.

Pain is feeling your muscles, your mind, your bones burn with an angry flame. Pain is feeling that flame seep it's way deep inside your brain. Pain and agony eats you up slowly from the inside, tearing off flesh after flesh. Experi- encing pain can tumble you downwards into one of the scariest, deepest, darkest holes. You scratch at the walls of pain, your nails digging deep in as you desperately try to climb out and be free. It doesn't work.

I experience pain every single day.

"Next time, do as I tell you! No questions asked!" Trevor hisses in disgust, standing over my petite body. His face is burning red, seething with anger. I push myself as far into the wall as I can, my entire body shaking with fear.

My heart is beating wildly against my chest, the sound of it echoing in my ears.

Whatever you do, don't look him in the eyes Emily. He hates it when I make eye contact with him.

Trevor's hands curl up into a tight fist and I immediately shrink into myself, screaming out as they crash down onto my body.

"Please stop! You don't have to do this!" I yell, pleading with him. My screams of agony fall upon deaf ears so I give up and lie there emotionlessly, letting him torture me like his little rag doll.

*****

I stare at my reflection in the mirror and sigh, hastily wiping the tears away from my eyes. I refuse to cry. . . That's exactly what he wants. He wants me to suffer and I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing I already am.

A big clump of my dark brown, almost black hair is missing, the scalp throbbing painfully where he'd ripped it out. My finger trailed down my cheek, under my eye where the stinging is now turning into a tender blue bruise. It's times like this where I thanked God I have an olive skin tone.

The bruises don't show up as easily.

I bite my bottom lip and let out a small whimper as I attempt to lift my top to see the damage he inflicted. As ex- pected the bruises run up my side but thankfully nothing feels broken.

How sad is it that I can tell the difference between a bruised and broken bone?

"Why did you leave me like this Dad?" I whisper, glancing at the frame on my bedside table. A photograph taken of me as a little girl. . . large brown eyes shining happily as I sat on my fathers shoulders, holding tightly onto his hair. His own eyes mirrored mine, a pearly smile so white and wide. Dad and I were inseparable.

on. Every time he entered the room, I craved his attention. Mum had taken the picture on my sixth birthday party. I remember that day so well, the way my father smiled at me as he sang 'Happy Birthday'. I remember him clutching the cake in front of him,

the following month leaving his only daughter behind

without the man I love

the glass. It feels cool against my lips and I close my eyes, taking slow breaths. I allow

princess." Dad would say every single night, tucking me up tightly before leaving the room and closing the door over

I didn't like

I whisper, clutching the picture frame

*****

dark hair is the complete opposite to Trish's bright blonde locks. She wears

secret for so long that I don't know how to tell her anymore. Trish knows I despise my stepfather and mother but doesn't question it often as she knows it's a

make me laugh until my sides hurt . . . cherish

she's wild at times, I know she has a good heart. We've been friends for years now, first meet- ing each other in primary school. We clicked

of us. I watch as one of the boys

up my side from the simple movement. Images of my step father raising his fists last night cloud my mind, making my hands clench into tight fists. I'm not a violent character. . . I'm too scared to fight back. I

shouldn't tuck my

thumb has never been the same after that accident. I chuckle

heartbroken at her lack of attention and

how was the concert this weekend?" I ask her eagerly, partly wanting to change the subject. Trish winces from the memories before letting out a small

was so drunk, I ended up peeing in a bush." I let

Typical Trish behaviour.

music? You know, the actual

a little more." Trish giggles, waggling her eyebrows in a sugges- tive

to a group

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