Twenty-two – Oliver

Since I tried to escape, Mum hasn't left the house. Shes been waiting. Waiting for me to make another wrong move so she can beat me, so she can scream insults into my ear.

It's been a week since she's locked me in here. Still no food and I've eaten all of my food besides one or two of the lollies that were kept in my room as a sugar fix for the late nights. I can't have any decent pain killers from my medical kit because of the lack of contents in my stomach so I have to suffer through the throbbing, stinging and headaches. I've taken my bandages off my arms and legs and there's still a decent lump on the back of my head from when she pushed me. And I still don't have an answer on how to get out of here.

If I make it, there's just five more days until Dad's course is over. Until he comes home. That's my last hope.

I get up and head to my bathroom. Drinking makes the hunger worse, but it is the only thing I have at the moment. I feel really faint today, or at least more faint than usual. I've kept my fluid up, a few litres a day but it runs straight through me with burning intensity. Paracetamol and water are all I have left.

I'm not looking in the mirror, I refuse to. There isn't anything there that I care about. There isn't anything there left to see. Instead, I distract myself with my drinking glass, filling it up, raising the glass to my lips, and letting the cold water slip down my throat. I know what's waiting for me once I finish my drink, usually it all comes back up again along with the disgusting taste of bile. My stomach starts to complain, but I ignore it, praying that for once I can hold the water for longer than thirty minutes. I take another sip. My body jolts and whatever I had left in my stomach comes hurling up. I double over, cradling the sink as pain shoots through my throat. My eyes snap closed as my body tries to push up as much as it can. My body heaves once, the water comes rushing back out, burning my throat like acid. I heave again, my ears ringing from pain, back hunched, holding the sink with white knuckles. A third heave and I can finally breathe. The smell of bile singes my nostrils. Shit. I hate that. Stepping back from the sink I wipe my hair out of my face and open my eyes.

I see red.

Blood...

Blood. There's blood. This can't be good.

I can't do anything but stare in disbelief. I don't know what's happening inside of me… but it can't be good.

I run the tap to try and clean the sink before the stench of the vomit engulfs the room. My whole body is shaking and burning. Even though my body lacked enough nutrients as it was, now I'm being starved by my own mother, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I stare at the cold, hard tiles, trying to fight the nauseating pain. What do I do now?