FanFic - Other
"Bide to be Alone"
Part 1
by Desirae Wilson
Disclaimer: No Roswell owners here.
Summary: Michael writes down his fellings after hank gets drunk and beats him.
Category: Other
Rating: PG-13
It hurts, it always hurts. Nothing anyone says can get worse then this. Hank got drunk again last night and came home angree, everything hadn't been done, and like some kind of ideat I tryed to calm him down. But he just got worse. He smashed his fist into me, over and over again until I screamed for mercy that he might stop and leave me some peace of myself. I remember lieing on the ground.When I came to,bruses of fingers and marks of fists were indented into my stomech. I don't know who long I was lieing there but when I came to Hank was watching TV and already half way through another bear.

I got up and walked to my room, I was hunched over from the pain in my back. and I kept me arm raped around my stomech for fear that all my insides would exploed out and I would be dead. I shut the door and went to my bed, under it I had placed a first aid kit, it had been done there ever sence I was 13 and Hank hit me with a basball bat. I took it out and raped a cloth around my bleeding stomach. It was harsh as all pain was. I felt like a child but an angre child, I felt helpless in a sence that he would never feel any of the pain that I felt. He would never know.

I remember when I was 14 I stated having night mares about him killing me, it was all ever vege but all I could think was that he was one day going to kill me, one way or a nother. As I was lieing on the bed, I remembered Liz and how she was always writing in her jernel, so I took a peace of paper and a penceil from a drower and at my desk I wrot down everything I was feeling, the pain the hart ach the fact that I had som maney people around me but I was so alone, I thought it was funny, all the little things that hurt so bad but felt so normel when they acured. Like I was some kind of writer I croniculed my thoughts and drifted every once in a while to new ones and so on and so forth.

I looked at the clock and it was midnight, the hour of change, I had once read. The hour when all things changed and we came one step closer to day light, it was weird and strang who I found strength in writing, I can't explane it not even to the paper that I write on now. I looked down once again to my stomech and almost scrached at the bloody stans on my body. I looked out the window wanting to write down what I saw, it was raining so I wrote that down. I wrote everything down that night. Like a strange creature to my pen and paper. And I myself had asked to be alone.

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