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flutytute

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     I must have passed out from blood loss, and exhaustion, because when I woke up the next night at nine pm, I felt woozy.  My arm was completely caked in blood, and I was still clutching a shard of the mirror in my right hand.
     The pain was gone, which was good, but, I now felt empty and disgusted with myself.  I had decided not to let my dad hurt me anymore, so I had turned to self-mutilation.  I was only nine, and in the fourth grade, I should have been playing with dolls, and instead I had methodically bled on the inside, and out.
     Careful as to not fall down, I slowly stood up using the wall for support.  The arm that I had mutilated left a streak of blood against the white wall, from where I leaned against it.
     Snapping my head, I looked at the door to make sure it was still intact and my father hadn't tried to get in.  It was still locked, and I felt a wave of relief spread over me, he hadn't come home yet.
     Moving quietly, I moved towards my bed and sat.  I needed to come up with a plan if my dad was gonna be living here still.  I needed to protect myself against him.  He would never hurt me again.  My teeth clenched at that thought.  He hadn't come home yet, I was sure of that.  I could smell him if he was close, or if he had been.
     Getting up again, I crossed to my door, unlocked it, and stepped out of my bedroom.  I walked down the hall, and when I passed my moms room, I could see that she was passed out.  Being careful not to disturb her, I tip-toed into her room and covered her up with a blanket.
     She looked disturbed and haunted even when she was sleeping.  I could see the purplish- blackish finger marks around her neck, from where my dad had choked her a week before.  They still looked fresh, and hadn't even begun to fade.
     Shaking my head, I walked out of her room, and continued down the hall, all the way to the kitchen.  I knew that my father would be coming home soon, he never stayed away for long, and now it would be earlier, especially since I had lost the court battle.
     Crossing through the kitchen, I went straight to the drawer that held the knives.  Rummaging through it, I passed up all the little steak knives, and instead picked out a long eight inch butcher knife.
      After that, I went to the bathroom and washed my arm.  Deep red swirls of blood swished down the sink.  The cuts were open again, and I had to wrap my arm with extra thick gauze so it wouldn't bleed through.
     Back in my room, I locked my door, and placed a black sweat shirt underneath it, so my dad couldn't look in.  When I was done, I crossed to my bed and sat with my legs crossed, with the knife laying in my lap.  I wasn't going to sleep tonight, if my dad came home, and got into my room, I wouldn't be defenseless and weak. 
     Smiling to myself, I settled in to wait for him.

*the next one will be more interesting... I promise! =)*