Broken

Prolouge:

My foster dad's heavy hand lands on my cheek knocking my already aching body to the floor. I bite my lip until I taste blood refusing to cry out in pain. He doesn't deserve that satisfaction. With aching arms I begin to push myself off the floor until a boot connects to my stomach, shoving the air from my lungs. My body hits the floor with a low thud as I gasp trying to regain my breath.

"Your useless, the only thing your good for is a punching bag." He says venomously."I wish your mother would have left you with someone but us, because all you do is eat us out of house and home and take up our space."

His retreating footsteps sound in my ears and I breath a ragged sigh of relief. Once I'm sure he's gone I push myself to my hands and knees and then to a standing position, cringing as the growing list of bangs and bruises ache and throb painfully. This is how it has been for the last six years, and this is how is will be for the next two. All I have to do is make it through high school and then I'll be out of here for good.

The stairs to my room in the attic are agonizing.