A Fate Renewed

Chapter 3-The Punishment

**Trigger Warning for Physical Abuse in this Chapter**

(Amira)

Shit...

The word echoed through my mind, the realization of what happened settling in as I stared down at that little wooden box.

He found the money...

Mr. Anderson had given me a raise last winter, and I didn’t tell my father. I had been keeping the money hidden in my drawer, slowly putting it away each payday and handing him the rest.

How the hell did he find out?

Suddenly, I felt a hovering presence behind me. I swear I could feel his energy. The dark negative aura was seeping into me, and all I felt was rage. Pure rage. I couldn’t turn around, I didn’t want to look at him… to see his face and how angry he must be. This was going to be bad.

“You little b***h, you thought you could steal from me?” He slurred his words, hatred filling his voice as he spat at me.

Hurt tore through my chest, the words he said, making my stomach turn as I stiffened in response. They was no point in trying to run. Not when he was like this.

Steal from him. That's what he thought I was doing? I worked my ass off for this money. I was the only reason we could still live in this house… I was the only reason he could still buy that alcohol he loved so much. It was me who kept us afloat all of these years.

Even with all of those thoughts swirling through my head… I still said nothing. I just clenched my jaw to the point that it was painful and said absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, I felt two stong hands shoving into my back and pushing me to the floor. The impact forced me on my knees as I let out a small yelp.

I quickly hung my head forward, preparing myself for the worst because I knew it was coming. I knew the moment I got that call earlier that tonight would end up like this. It always did.

Without warning, I felt my fathers foot slam into my lower back, making my hands reach out, catching myself before hitting the floor.

“You ungrateful…” He grumbled to himself, trailing off as I knew what was coming.

There was nothing I could do to brace myself, not when he was like this.

I heard the slap of leather against my back before I felt it. Then another against my shoulder. I felt my mouth open into a silent screem before quickly closing it, biting my tongue and causing it to bleed.

The metallic taste was a brief distraction from the pain shooting up my back and shoulders.

"I'm sorry." I shouted, remorse filling my voice.

I couldn't fight bac. Theree was no point. He would just beat me twice as hard the next time. I learned it was easier just to say I'm sorry and get it over with.

“You are going to be after this one.” He gritted, making me shut my eyes tight before balling my hands into a fist and enduring. He will tire himself out eventually.

Eight… I counted eight strikes as he stood behind me huffing. My back felt like it was on fire. The stinging settled, turning into a dull throb as it matched the beat of my racing heart.

“Look at me.” He yelled through the silence, causing me to jump.

I slowly turned around, facing him, wiping my tears quickly before he could see them. I couldn't meet his eyes, looking down at the carpet as he hovered above me.

“Look. at. me.” He said once again, much slower this time.

I knew if I didn’t, he would use the belt again. I raised my green eyes up to him. His dark brown orbs stared back at me, glaring, full of nothing but hatred.

“If you ever steal from me again, I will kill you.” His words were life a knife to the heart. Kill me?

I blinked quickly. This was the first time he had threatened me like that. To think he hated his own daughter so much that he would threaten my life. Realization hit me that this man wasn't my father anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time.

I sat there looking at him, his hand quickly lashing out, slapping me across the face and making my head whip to the side as I tasted blood on my lips.

“Do you understand?” He yelled, making me jump.

"Yes, sir." I breathed. My voice was barely a whisper as those were the only words I could muster.

"Clean this s**t up.” He added with disgust before looking around my room, seeming to sober up quite a bit now, and then he left. Slamming the door behind him.

Seconds later, I could hear him rummaging through the cabinets, ready to fix that issue of sobering up.

I kneeled on the floor, looking around my room, and numbly stood up, beginning to straighten the items he had thrown around. Eight hundred dollars, that is how much he had found, that was why he had hit me eight times exactly.

All of that money, all of the time I had spent, was gone, just like that… I felt defeated as I fixed my mattress and cleaned up the rest of my room. I slowly slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind me, trying not to provoke him even more.

I pulled my shirt off with a his and slowly turned to look at my back. The kere sight of my pale skin caused me to wince. Huge red marks now covered my flesh. The blood had already begun to dry around the lashes as I felt sick to my stomach just from the sight of them.

He hadn’t used the belt in years. Usually, it was slapping or kicking. Looking at my reflection, I studied myself carefully. God, was I pathetic… My full bottom lip was now busted open. The red blood tinted them as they almost looked pretty, as if I had put on lipstick.

I looked into my aqua green eyes and saw absolutely nothing. No light, no fear, and not a single ounce of fight to be seen. Just emptiness.

I felt like a shell of a person.

I pulled my long wavy hair to the side, seeing how it reached just past my waist now as I began to examine my body carefully.

My eyes settled on a bruise that rested below my ribcage from two weeks ago. It was now yellow… at the final stages of healing.

I turned around slowly to examine the marks on my back again. Each red lash throbbed as I stared at myself, noticing how my hip bones protruded out. I looked too thin, and with my short stature, I felt so small and frail. I was weak. So damn weak and pathetic.

Why was I here? Why hadn’t I left once I turned eighteen when I could? My head swam with these questions even though I already knew the answer, and it made me so freaking disappointed with myself.

The fact that I still cared for this man who did this to me was disgusting. I was here for her because he had no one left. She was his everything. I felt bad for him. Maybe it was just pity. That's why I was still here. Even though I knew he hated me, he loathed me, especially since I looked like her. I had her brown hair and her warm smile. But my eyes? Those were all my own.

He wouldn’t look into them very often because it made him realize I wasn’t her. That the way he treated me wasn’t fair. Looking down, I traced the small birthmark over my heart. It was a dark s***h in a long line, looking like a scar more than anything.

My mother always kissed it and traced the line while I drifted to sleep as a child. She said that was how the angels added my heart because they gave me something extra, something so special that only she could see it.

I really believed her when she told me that. I really thought I was special. Now, looking at myself, I felt betrayed by those ideas. I couldn't believe in those childish things anymore.

I added some ointment to the lashes on my back, only the ones I could reach, and the pain started to numb as much as they could.

That night, I slept on my stomach and awoke wincing and groaning throughout the early hours of morning. Giving up on sleep, I just decided to start my journey early.

I quietly grabbed my backpack and added some extra socks and a light jacket. I knew the trails would be muddy, so I wanted to be prepared. I looked inside and only had a single bottle of water and two granola bars.

I didn’t want to risk making too much noise, so I decided that should be more than enough. Looking in the mirror, I hastily tied my hair back and slipped on my jeans and a white t-shirt as I pulled on a blue hoodie. The pain in my back making everything that much harder.

I then finished it off with my baseball cap and quietly opened the door. Peeking my head out, I surveyed the living room, seeing my father’s half-empty bottle of liquor sitting on the floor next to the couch.

I stood there for a moment, frozen like a deer in headlights as I listened for any sound of him. Sure enough, I heard his snoring bellowing out beneath the crack of his door.

My shoulders relaxed, and I slowly put my backpack on, wincing from the contact with my tender skin. I tiptoed across the hall to the front door and pulled on my hiking boots. Slowly turning the handle, I tugged lightly at the door before opening it and slipped outside, not even looking back once.

I was out of there...