Down The Wrong Rabbit Hole (Creepypasta) (1)

Broken smile

The bell rang and I shivered as I looked out at the weather outside. It was storming like a raging b!tch. No, scratch that. My abusive d!ck-weed of a father. I zip up my thin hoodie with dread and walk out into the elements, immediately shivering and soaked to the bone. I was shivering so hard that I had to clench my jaw if I wanted to be able to see straight. My whole back was shaking violently. I finally reached home and fought with the rain and wind to open the door. I still had to struggle to shut it. My mom looked from her magazine on the counter and I flinched, but she didn't say anything mean.

She just sighed and walked over, helping me with my bag and soaked hoodies. She motioned to the blazing fireplace and I obeyed happily. She might be a b!tch, but even she understood what it's like to be outside whens it's like that. She hands me a cup of warm cider and the warmth returns to my body, bringing with it pins and needles everywhere that was frozen. I finished the cider and give the mug back to mom once I'm completely dry and go upstairs to the attic where my bedroom is. It's fairly big, considering we live in a large two story house.

A few hours later I hear my father's drunken, slurred shouts and tremble in fear. I hear his footsteps coming up and I huddle on my bed, shaking. He pulls me by the ankles to himself and I try to resist. He slapped me so hard that my cheek split, oozing blood. He did this almost every night. He began to take off my skinny jeans. I won't go into detail. I lay in a corner, my sobbing and shaking body the aftermath of what he has done to me.

I lay under my grey blanket, the soft fabric one of only two things that gave me comfort. The other one was a plush monochromatic clown doll with a cone shaped nose. I don't remember how, or when I got it or who gave it to me. But I've had it for three years. I take him wherever I go. I get up from the corner and walk into the bathroom like a broken china doll, using most of the hot water and shampoo and body wash. His visits always left me feeling filthy. I slipped into my boy shorts and soft black pajama pants, slipping a long sleeve over my head. I go back to huddle in the corner and see a bag of black and white striped candy, with a handwritten note.
                                                             
Don't cry doll, he isn't worth it. I got ya some candy to make you feel better, I know it's what keeps you sane. You should laugh more often, you have the prettiest broken smile.
                            ~L.J P.S, that monochromatic clown you have is one handsome fellow.

I laughed a little and cracked a small smile. I heard rustling and saw a note on my windowsill.      
   
                                              There's that beautiful laugh! Keep smiling doll.                                      
                                                                             ~L.J