Wounded Secrets

I felt like destroying something. Just taking a fucking sludge hammer and smashing the largest thing I can find, shooting something, lighting something on fire, anything. But, I decided to just channel my anger until I was allowed to kill something. There was a knock on the door.

"What the fuck do you want?!" I snarled at the door.

"Will you come out please?" I heard Uncle Mikey on the other side.

"Why should I?!"

"Because you need to talk. And I'm about to piss myself." He replied. I sighed and opened the door, letting him in and leaving the bathroom.

I walked to the bunks and climbed up into mine, careful to avoid any drawings and grabbed the only colours I would be needing for my newest drawing. Red, grey, white, and black.

I sketched madly onto the what was once a blank canvas. I took all my rage and anger and channeled it into my hands and let them slide it across the papers. I finished the pencil outline, purposefully making the lines jagged and some scattered. I admired it for a second before madly filling in its hues. I finished the highlighting and darkening and sat back.

It showed a shadow holding a heart in each hand, their dripping blood leaking between his fingers. His two victims were both on their knees, facing the veiwer, with chains around their hands and throat and gaping holes where their heart once were. The chains were red and had elaborate, beautiful designs on them. The victims had their heads down and hair covering their faces, but you could obviously tell that one was a woman and the other a man. The girls hair was half black and half white and singed red on the ends, the man's was bright red.

Now, I could go SO far into detail with what I meant by all this, but by just simply looking at it, or reading of a description, you know what the simplicity of it meant. I sighed, happy enough with my work and I layed back. I felt a lot better, but I was still absolutely disgusted by my father's behaviour. My head set into the soft pillow and I fell asleep, holding my newest piece of art.

&&&

"What the fuck is this?!" I woke up with a start, sitting up abruptly in my bunk, hitting my head on the ceiling.

"What the fuck?!" I asked, completely pissed that not only had my father woke me up with yelling and cursing, but had been looking in my bunk and touched my personal stuff.

"Why the fuck would you draw this kind of shit?!" He snarled at me, holding up the drawing I gave Frank and my newest addition.

"Ha, what happened to artistic expression, asshole." I laid back down, my head still rubbing my forehead. "Dad, please shut up. I turn 18 soon and when that happens, you have absolutely no threshold over me at all."

"Don't fucking talk to me like that. And if I see one more thing about Frank, your going home." He said, being his usual asshole self and throwing my drawings back at me.

"Oh, don't bust my balls because you have nothing to put your dick in." I mumbled under my breath, barely audible to the human ear.

"What did you just say?!" He screamed at me, his eyes wild as he spat his poisoned words in my face.

"I said: 'DON'T BUST MY BALLS BECAUSE YOU HAVE NOTHING TO PUT YOUR DICK IN!!'" I spat back in his face, coating my words in the worst venom available. Frank came up behind dad, his eyes wide in fear, but I could tell he was suppressing a smile.

Dad grabbed my hair and made me stare him right in the face "I swear to god, if you ever, EVER, talk to me like that again I will send you home, where you'll never see anyone ever again and will be fed once a day. Your room will also be stripped of everything but a thin blanket, a pillow, and a bucket to use as a bathroom." He threatened, shaking my head when he raised his voice. I kept my jaw clenched and my nose scrunched as he spoke, not scared of his threats. He let go of me hair.

"Try me." I spit in his face. I literally spit in his face. He just wiped off his face and walked away, fists clenched and at his sides.

Notes

That conversation may or may not be based on conversations I've had. I'm not that sassy, okay.