A New Beginning

Content warning: Abuse and Blood

"It isn't easy for me. It never was!" I confess, staring at the cuffs binding my hands. "But fate had left me with no other choice."

Sitting in the empty room with nothing but two pieces of furniture gave me quite some time to gather my thoughts. The memories of the belt swinging high up in the air before slashing against my body, the blood pouring from the slit throat like chocolate from a lava cake, the agonizing screams reverberating around the house - I don't know which of them is the worst.

My childhood and adolescence would have been like any other: family, friends, school. It was, in fact, just that, until my father lost his job. It was a painful period. Adding to our miseries, he failed to be employed anywhere else due to the pandemic; it was disheartening to witness him in such a concerned and helpless state. He lost all hopes and gave up sooner than expected; within no time, we began falling short on money.

That doesn't bother me anymore; I could not care less about him being worried or upset. I only care about the wounds that remind me of my helpless state during the four months of pure agony and torture. My scars tingle as memories of those haunting nights flash back, only to be interrupted by the loud door being creaked open.

An armed officer marches into the room and takes a seat. His thin glasses shielding his wide eyes added to his austere look. He glances at the watch wrapped around his thick muscular arms, reminding me of my father's, before beginning, "How could you do it? Didn't your conscience prohibit you? Didn't your hands tremble?" He is screaming at this point, his eyes wide open, and his face forming into a sharp, strict expression.

"It isn't easy for me. It never was!" I confess, staring at the cuffs binding my hands. "But fate had left me with no other choice."

"What had fate offered you?" he hissed.

 His sternness made me stumble upon my words.

"My relation with my father was not a good one, so I was forced to take the huge step that I did. I never wanted any of this, I promise it was just self-defense!"

The officer sits up straight before spitting out his next question: "What made your relation with your father so bad?"

"The belts. I don't think I will ever be able to forget the pungent stench of alcohol as it filled the room my dad sat in. The sounds of bottles crashing against the walls used to send chills on my spine as I knew what would follow. My mother used to lock herself in her bedroom whenever she knew my dad was drunk - which happened to be every weekend - and I would be sent as the volunteer to receive my dad's torturous lashes. He would drink till he was out of his mind and then-"

I pause. I can't begin narrating the degrees of pain I would feel as the belt swung high up and strike against me: the part would stay numb for days! The mere thoughts of those days haunt me. I dig into the hollow space my cuffed arms created and begin to sob, before the officer pulls me right back up.

"That does not give you the authority to slit his throat off." He barks at me. His eyes show no sympathy. His hand clenched into a tight fist reminds me of the punches I tried to defend myself with. Those light blows were nothing against my father's solid, muscular body; they merely aggravated his anger. He would find anything else to swing at me. The officer's pound against the table flashes me back awake. "Answer me!" He snaps.

"I was helpless! If I had not done that, I would have been in our living room right now, receiving his smacks. He was a hungry animal, devouring to be fed, satisfied by my screams and wounds."

I can't hold back my tears. The officer then pushes himself backward and gets up. I watch him through my wet blurry eyes as he slides the glass of water towards me. "Do not think your false tears have impacted me. I am just doing my job."

His audacity. 

"Besides, I know you are lying. Where was your mother? Why didn't you tell her, huh?" 

"At first, I was shocked and frozen. I could not process the fact that the oppressor behind the lashes was my own bloody father. The second time, I did consult my mother, but did you really expect her to believe me over the love of her life?" 

"... and what about the wounds?"

"She dismissed them by claiming I must have fought someone in school, or perhaps, fallen. She couldn't risk loosing her only source of money." 

His stern expression turns into a curious one. He demands an explanation. 

"My mom used to turn deaf to my heart-wrenching screams. You think she simply couldn't hear me? Of course not! She could not dare to speak against my father. She didn't have the guts or the heart to loose all that money and luxury she owns." I

 feel confident at this point. Unapologetic. I know I was right. Slitting his throat open with the broken bottle was the right choice. 

The officer, unsatisfied, replies, "Well, I can not help you. You are legally an adult and are responsible for your actions." He sighs before exiting the interrogation room, signaling the other cop to take me away. 

I sit in this dark, gloomy cell, perhaps waiting for my mother's call. Waiting for her to come to visit me and take me back home, but I know this hope will go in vain. I am destined to call this dungeon my new home, waiting for the death sentence that will end all my agony and struggles. This is a new beginning, one that will end soon.