Harvester of Sorrow

Summary: Being abused by someone who should protect you leaves a scar so deep it'll never be healed, sometimes all you want to do is die just to escape the pain. Mike Shinoda knows how it feels, but endures it all alone. No one knows about the torment he is being put through and he has no intention of telling anyone. Can he hold on until he can escape or will he slowly die on the inside and give up in the end?

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DISCLAIMER: I do not personally know Linkin Park; if I did I wouldn't be writing about them! This is just fiction, meaning I made it up in my twisted little mind ;) Don't sue me.


Harvester of Sorrow

Prologue


The first time my father hit me I was only five years old. I remember holding my stinging cheek and crying my eyes out. He showed no sympathy, just told me I was pathetic and deserved the punishment. Though I couldn't understand what he was exactly punishing me for. All I had been doing was sitting on the living room floor coloring a picture in my coloring book with my crayons. His fist had thrown me onto my back, taking me completely off gaurd. I remember when I sat up again I had his face directly in mine and he had hit me again for staring at him like some arrogant jerk. His words had puzzled me, but yet I wasn't focused on them... all I could focus on was the pain I felt deep within my heart. My daddy had hit me, the realization had broke my heart. I can remember wanting to gag when the smell of his rancid breath hit my face. I have always hated the smell the alcohol leaves on his breath, but back then it made me down right nauseous.

I would soon learn that wasn't the end of it, but instead the beginning of a living nightmare that would carry on into my teenage years. My loving father had turned into an alcoholic and was a mean drunk at that. I never could and still can't understand what made him change so suddenly or why he became so violent towards me. In the back of my mind I know that there is a reason I may never know. I continue to hold on though no matter how hopeless it seems at times. Ever since my father started "punishing" me I have slowly crawled inside myself. I have never told anyone about my private home life in fear of what my father would do to me and I don't want the shame I know I would feel if I tell my friends and they judge me. I also can’t trust people that easily; something my father has inculcated in me. Plus I see how they already look at me; I don't want to risk losing the only friends I have by exposing my secret.

My father has drilled into my head that I am unworthy of friends and am destined to be alone. I don't want to believe his cruel words, but after you have heard them for years on end it is hard not to question your own worth in life. I know that part of the reasoning for father's "punishing" me is because of the alcohol, but I also know that it runs far deeper than that. Like stated before I don't know why he treats me so badly, but it all started when my younger brother was born. I love him more than anything, but I can't help feeling jealous of him. Dad has never laid a finger on him and he is in fact a complete spoiled brat. He knows how I am treated yet acts like he is better than me and doesn't even acknowledge the fact that I am his brother. He sneers whenever he sees dad screaming at me and constantly has rude comments for me. I don't blame him for anything though, that is just how he was raised... dad has brainwashed him. Plus he has never seen father's other forms of punishment, if he knew I am sure he would treat me differently. At least I hope he would.

At the early age of five I was no longer privileged enough to have my medium sized bedroom and all my toys. My younger brother Jason wasn't even one years old yet, but my dad decided that he should have my room. I couldn't understand why he needed his own room let alone my room, but I slowly grew to understand that it was just another way to make me suffer. That and Jason deserves the best! Of course that left me with the only room left in the house which is no bigger than a walk in closet and I mean that literally. It is actually a room my mom wanted to make into her art room, but my dad complained so much that she finally gave up and left the room alone. The sad part is she was going to fix the walls and put new carpet in it; the old carpet had stains all over it. Now it is my room and I am lucky enough to have father not fix it after they tore it apart. There are huge holes in my walls and instead of a comfy carpeted floor I have concrete. That is how it has been for years though so I am used to it by now.

I have to say that there is one day out of the year that I don't hate my life and that is my birthday. Surprisingly enough my father at least allows me to celebrate that special occasion. I don't receive any presents because I am unworthy, but my mom makes me her famous chocolate cake. That is what means the most to me because she puts her whole heart into making it. I feel so special when she does that for me and I am thankful for the fact that father hasn't taken that away from me as well. My father never wishes me a happy birthday, just sarcastically says, "Well boy you're another year older, one year closer to your dying day.". Even though his words are cold and harsh I have learned to ignore his cruel words and just enjoy the day that only comes once a year. I stay particularly close to mother, drinking in her every word of love and praise. The next day things are back to normal, but that one day when I am showered with love, keeps me strong enough to make it through the rest of the year. I do receive gifts from my friends, but father takes them away before I can even call them mine. Where he keeps them I don’t have a clue, hell he could throw them away for all I know. Eventually the gifts from my friends stopped as well, they most likely think I don't appreciate the gifts since they never see me with them. I wish I could tell them the truth so they didn't think of me as an ungrateful bastard, but I can't bring myself to utter a single word. Call me pathetic and weak, but I can't risk getting my dark secret out in the open.

As the years have gone by father slowly started to refuse to call me by my name and in a weird sense has made me feel like he has taken away my identity. To him I am either The Boy, Bastard, Asshole, Fag and whatever else he can come up with to make me feel worthless. I know there is nothing I did to make him hate me so much, but there are times when I can't help blaming myself. It just hurts deeply to have my own father treat me this way, all I want is for him to love me and be proud of me. Deep inside I know that is a hopeless dream that I can't seem to let go of. Even now at fifteen years old he hurts me in the worst ways possible and I have a feeling that I will never escape him... even after I am long gone from this house.

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Thank you Agni for BETA-ing!

A/N: Thank you to MyImmortalBrokenSoul for helping me come up with the title for the story!!!