"DADDY PLEASE!" I begged to my so-called father.
"SHUT THE f**k UP!!" he hollered back at me.
He whipped me one last time. My back oozed blood and my body trembled with fear. At least today wasn't as bad as every other day. He wasn't drunk today so I didn't have to worry about the broken bottles being shoved into my thighs.
I could never understand how a father could treat a child in such a cruel and inhumane way. What did I ever do to him? Oh, wait... I remember... I killed my mother... According to him, my birth was her death.
My mother was 22 when she became pregnant with me. My father was overjoyed with the pregnancy. Up until he found out that she could not give birth. She would die from it. Knowing that his precious 'Mate' would die from the birth he was quick to change his mind. My mother, on the other hand, refused, as any other good mother would do. Quickly after my birth, my father named me Bane.
Now I know what you're thinking. Isn't Bane the name of a boy? Isn't one of the characters from the comic book series Batman named Bane? Well, my answer is yes and yes. Bane is actually a word that means Destruction, Annihilation, murderer. That is what my father thought of me. I am a murderer.
They say werewolves mate for life. Once a werewolf finds its mate, they are bonded together as one as soon as the male claims the female. Now whereas a normal couple consisting of two werewolves would be mates.
My father and my mother were different. My father is a werewolf. A strong one at best. He was the main fighter of his pack and the second in command. I guess you could call him a Beta. My mother, on the other hand, was a normal human.
She was small and fragile. That's why having a baby killed her. Her body was too small. Now I don't mean small as in underdeveloped. I just mean small as in 5ft and about 110 lbs. My father, on the other hand, was 6'4 and around 220 lbs. My father was easily twice my mother's size. I'm still surprised that she didn't die during the s*x.
"GO TO YOUR ROOM. YOU ARE NOT TO BE FED TONIGHT!" my father's voice smacked me back into reality.
Too scared to say a word I used the little bit of strength I had left and I got up from the floor. I felt a sharp pain on my abdomen and realized that my father had kicked me.
"FASTER" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
I dragged my body upstairs and locked myself in my room. I laid on the bed and tears started to flow from my eyes. 17 years and I still could not endure my father's rage. How pathetic. I should be accustomed to it by now.
I knew that I was bleeding, I walked into my bathroom and turned on the hot water. I stripped from my clothing and slowly climbed in. The water burned my cuts. Capturing the blood and dragging it down the drain. I whimpered but did not move. The pain will pass. The pain makes me feel alive. It reminds me that everything soon passes. I just hope this hell that I call home passes too...
After my shower, I put on a different pair of clothing and climbed into bed. I cried quietly to myself until my sleep consumed me. Darkness, it is my only escape. It is the only thing that makes me feel safe…