I sat in my Garage with my acoustic guitar in my lap. The Garage was my space, no one ever entered.

It was where I spent most of my time. It was my bedroom with out a bed. The walls were a light beige colour and were covered in random posters ranging from an old Sailor moon poster, to Aerosmith, to a red 60's Chev SS.

Most of the floor was covered in a foam base with carpet on top. In the corner of the room sat my guitar stand and book shelves not that I had many books though. The rest of the floor was cement, with tools scattered around my black and white Honda Fireblade.

My bike was my freedom and also my sanity. It gave me the power to go wherever I wanted, but I never dared to leave town. I tried once, quickly learned my lesson. I know my mom doesn't approve of my bike, She knows that I will eventually leave, as soon as I can. Dad dosen't approve either, but I really don't care about what he thinks. He dosen't know how much I despise him for what he has done to my mom and I. Im not too fussy over my mother either, cause if she was smarter, She would have left him and taken me with her.

I don't depend on anyone but myself, I learned that a long time ago.

I save as much money as I can when I get it. I bought my bike used from my boss at the mechanics shop. He lowered the price to help me afford it for my birthday.

I heard a loud thump come from the other side of the door that leads into the house, followed by screaming from my parents. Then there was what sounded like a slap and the crashing of plates.

They were fighting again. My parents. They always fight when dad comes home (usually Drunk).

I strummed my guitar trying to enjoy the soft melody before what I knew what was coming, It came every night when dad makes his way home.

I placed my guitar in its stand next to my bookshelf; then walked over to my bike and covered it with an old blanket. I cleaned up all my tools and placed them in there proper places.

I went to open the door that connected the garage to the house when the door opened. There stood my father with the look of fury in his eyes.

"Well there's my little Sakura." He slurred and put his arm around me is some weird hug thing. "How are you doing?"

"Hi, I'm good, school was fine." I said as I wiggled in his awkward grip as he forced me to move back into the garage.

"That's good, how are your grades?"

"My Grades are fine Dad." I felt his hand go across my face hard. Forcing my head to be whipped to the side.

"Don't give me that!" he yelled, "You got a B Math, and that is not acceptable!"

"I'm Sorry" I cried with tears streaming down my face. "I'm Trying I really am I'm just not…"

"Your just what? Not good at math? That is Not an Excuse!"

His hand came into contact with my face so hard it knocked me to the ground.

A small scream escaped my lips as my body came into contact with the cold concrete of the floor.

His foot cam into contact with my abdomen.

"Don't give me any excuses!"

"Its all because of that boy down at the Mechanic's shop Right? Your Spending too Much Time there Screwing him, Aren't you Little Whore? I should have never let you take that job."

"What bo-"

I tried to get up but he kicked my stomach knocking me down to the ground, continuously beating me until I passed out.

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I woke up on the hard cold cement floor of the garage. I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. I pulled myself to my feet, and pain pulsed through my body. I slowly made my way to the door that led into the house; the door was still open.

Memories from the night flooded my mind, painful kicks and punches hitting me. I shuttered and continued to walk into the house. As I went to take a step into the house, I missed the step and fell on to my hands and knees. A sharp pain pierced my hand. I lifted my hand, a few drops of blood dripped on to the floor and on to scattered pieces of glass scattered around the doorway.

I head a gasp; I looked up and saw my mother with a broom and a dustpan cleaning up broken pieces of glass. Her eyes were filled with pain sadness and embarrassment. She had a cut on her cheek and a black eye, and her black hair was pulled in to a loose bun. My mother dropped the broom and the dustpan and ran into her studio. Then quiet sobs began echoing out of the room. I shook my head angrily. She makes me so frustrated.

Slowly I made my way to my small bedroom above the garage. My twin sized bed sat on the far end of the room just to the side of the small window. There was a small dresser that held my clothes. The room was barely any bigger than a walk in closet.

I grabbed some clothes and went to the bathroom down the hall. Pictures hung on the walls; My mom and dad on there wedding day, random childhood photos, and one that was a family portrait that was taken not too long ago.

I stepped into the shower and allowed the warm water to soften my tight muscles.

I scrubbed off all the grunge that I had accumulated over my body through the night. I scrubbed my body over and over again trying to rid myself from the memories and the bruises of the night.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my self, then bandaged my hand with gauze. The cut was deep but not deep enough to need stiches.

I looked at my self in the mirror. Scars covered my body, thin lines that stood up from the rest of my skin.

When I was 12 he started with hitting me and at first I fought back. One night my father came into my room with a knife and "marked" me as he so lovingly called them. The scars go from just below my hips to the upper part of my colar bone area on the front and the back of my body. Some even go up the back of my neck to my ears. They are thin slashes. Oh God they hurt when he did them. I screamed and screamed and - no, I have to stop thinking about that awful night.

They are so thin that no one who looks at me could see them, unless they were really looking or were really close. Thankfully I don't let anyone that close. But I and still see them and feel them as if they were done the day before. The pain never went away. He said that it was to make me undesirable to anyone. So that I would have to stay with him.

A small tear fell down my cheek, its been five years and I've never fought back, for fear that he would do worse. I wiped my cheek and I continued to inspect my body for any more damage.

My neck had a large dark purple bruise that went almost up my chin, and blue bruises covered all over my body. Most of the bruises were new, but you could see older ones with yellow outlining the rims of the blemishes on my pale skin.I always wondered how he rarely hit my face.

I threw on a pair of dark navy jeans with a black turtleneck. I let my honey brown hair fall naturally around my shoulders then left the bathroom.

I entered my bedroom and sat on my bed. I had a few minutes before I had to go to school.

My eyes drifted toward my side table to the photo of two happy smll children. There was a little girl with honey brown hair, in her swim suit and the young boy with Auburm hair holding on to her waist. Both kids had large smiles and were laughing.

This photo was the most precious possessions that I had.

I had been so happy with him. My best friend he protected me from everything; but that was a long time ago and people change. Now we never talked and rarely saw each other.

I felt tears began to cloud my eyes. I quickly stood up and regretted it. Pain shot through me like a bullet. I roughly wiped my eyes then I slowly began walking back to the garage wiping the tears that had begun to fall.

I heard small sobs from the studio, all the glass and blood had cleaned up. I grabbed my keys to by bike, put on my oversized biker boots and grabbed my leather jacket and through on my helmet. Then walked in to the garage and got on my bike, I revved the motor and went off to school.

Yes its short but its just the plot. Longer Chapters are soon to come.
Hope you enjoyed