Darkthorn’s Blog

“Fuck you. Cunt. Sluut.”

The words rained down on the girl’s head harmlessly. She had heard them all before, and could probably use them to form a more coherent sentence than that. She chose not to swear however, there was no point in that, like anything else.

Once she had done a deal, cutting as hard and fast as she could, just so that she could swear for a week. She had needed to take out her frustrations somehow, in a way they would notice.

The boy she had verbally attacked didn’t know what had hit him. This presumably mild mannered little girl had lashed out at him, using big words he could hardly even understand. He didn’t even know what he had done wrong. Of course he had forgotten, to everyone else, his barbs at her were the smallest thing. But for the girl, they were taunts and reminders of her father, something she didn’t need at school. She got quite enough of that at home.

The barrage was continuing outside the girl. She wondered when the hitting would start again, or maybe this time he would be too drunk to aim properly. That happened sometimes, and he blamed her for moving out of the way. Told her to ‘take it like a man’, but she wasn’t a man, much as in those early years she had desired to be one to escape. Her father had always wanted a boy, not what he perceived to be a weak, pathetic girl.

The girl snorted involuntarily. The man abusing her, stopped. He didn’t think there was anything funny about what he had to do to keep this wayward child of his in line.

“What’ss sso funny?” he slurred. “Want me to make things better for you? Not happy with the life I give you, clothes off my back and food on the shelves?”

The girl almost laughed aloud. Clothes off his back, yeah right. The couple of T-shirts Sal had been able to get away from him were all in the rag basket. The girl always happily used them for the dirtiest jobs she could find. The pig wouldn’t notice the difference anyway, he didn’t know what clean was. All her clothes, she had stolen money from him when he was passed out on the floor, and begged at school. Everyone else there had though she just wanted something to eat, it was relatively common to scab money for that reason. She didn’t ever eat though, except what Sal could put together.

Sal was a life-saver. She was a wonderful cook, able to make the ends of what was in their cupboards form something vaguely like a meal. He didn’t eat anything much, what little he had was take-away, apparently his ‘delicate constitution’ couldn’t handle anything else. The girl wondered who had told him this, as he always took the time to use air quotation marks. Anyway, everyone knew that junk-food was bad for you, made you fat. What she had learnt in biology was that drinking did exactly the same thing, no wonder her father took up most of the couch.

Drinking was a weak, coward’s way to escape. Her method was so much better, albeit not cleaner, but longer lasting. The hit she got from cutting rivaled any feelings of relief he got from those cold cans of beer. These days, he was going for the heavier stuff, drinking vodka more often. The girl could only hope he drank himself to death before he got in the way of her plans. She would never end up like him, she had promised herself that.