Innocent ✔️

One

Today is finally the new year and as usual, I am sitting in my so called room, writing a new page in my diary which was messages for my mother but to be honest, I couldn't concentrate, my eyes were running up and down the letters that I already wrote earlier that didn't make any sense in my head anymore because of those thoughts that were hunting me.

I can't believe it's been three years that I've been living here. Three years since my mother's death. I hated New Years, it reminds me of that events of my mother. Not that I forgot it anyway but it just makes me think about it more often. I still remember every detail like it was yesterday. What was really hunting me was the tattoo. That inked cross.

Everything of the night kept running and running, repeating itself in my skull, killing me slowly and as much as I wanted it to stop, I didn't want to forget it. I didn't want to forget how bad my life was, how bad it still is. How my own mother got killed in front of my eyes three years ago and I still can't wrap the fact that she got killed because of me around my head. Her eyes looking at me and ignoring the pain of his shoes kicking her sides, making sure I safely left the room and just that made me more and more regret how I just walked out and left her screaming of pain behind. I could have done something, anything. She could've been alive right now if ever I tried to take their attention away from killing the only one I had left.

Here I am, living this life as a maid in my aunt's house. In her mansion. It was so large to just have her and her daughters inside. Because of the law, she had to raise us until we are able enough to leave and have a life on our own which I knew she was really impatient of seeing.

Even if I was sixteen years old, I didn't have the right to go out or let's be honest; they didn't give me the right to go out. I was just like a maid. I was here to clean, prepare the table to eat and wash their clothes but the truth was; I didn't care.

My cousin Hailey, the nice daughter of my aunt, the one who treats me as normal humans, and my brother Kyle both kept telling me how bad they treat people in The North Side. They both work there. They always tell me that The North Side is the side where no one from here wants to go there, it was the bad side. They kept telling me how everyone has inks over their bodies and piercings all over their faces. I have never met someone like that but my imaginations made me have an image of them and I was interested enough to see it myself.

"Anastasia, come down here." My aunt called from downstairs.

She was one of the most rich people in The South Side. She had everything my parents didn't and she never thought about helped them. She was always so mean to me, to us but I didn't care. She gave me and my brother a room to sleep and food to eat and that was all we needed for now. She was kind of forced to keep us with her since she was the only family left to us. Or the only family I knew it existed. I am sixteen years old and my parents never talked about any family of us. It was always just us. They never talked about my aunt either but I heard them before talking about her and how rich she was just because she got married someone who fell in love with her and he was one of the rich families in the continent.

I jumped out the bed, throwing the notebook I never started under it before hurring out the door and down the long stairs of the mansion. She was sitting on the couch, waiting for my presence in front of her. I walked closer and stood in just front of her. Her daughter was standing right in front of her with a smirk on her lips, shaking her crossed leg, happily for some reasons I didn't know and I knew I didn't want to know any time soon.

What did I do now?

Or let's say what lie she invented in her mother's dark skull to see me crying of the consequences that comes behind.

"Anastasia," she started. "Why do you always make a mess whenever I give you my back and trust you?"

"I-" I was going to defend myself but she didn't let me continue, she said "you listen to me until I order you to talk, Anastasia McLeod."

"Sorry." I murmured, looking down at my shoes.

She crossed her legs, exploding her white skin that was hidden under her long red dress. Her gaze run up and down my body before she said "Julia is so mad at you, Anastasia. I already warned you to not get my daughters mad, didn't I?"

"But I-" again, she cut me off saying "the answer was suppose to be yes or no, Anastasia."

"Yes, you did." I said.

"Good. Then why are you breaking my words and do exactly what I told you not to?"

"I didn't." I defended myself.

"But you did." She looked behind me at her daughter and said "Julia told me you didn't wash her clothes."

"I did, Miss Brooklyn. I swear it."

"Oh. Is that so, Julia?" She said, amused.

"No, mother." Julia said. Even if I wasn't looking at her, I knew she was smiling.

"Well. You didn't, McLeod. My daughter doesn't lie." She stood up. "Go to your room, don't get out until I tell you to." She screamed and streamed out the big room.

I looked back at, Julia. She was smirking at me. She hates me for no reason really. She hates me because she said I took her place. In what? I never found out. Will I soon? Probably not.

"Don't forget to come up to my room to take the clothes." She said, sitting down where her mother just was, crossed her legs, shaking them lightly. "Oh! I almost forgot! You couldn't walk out that room of yours until she tells you to." She teased.

"But I already wash them." I murmured, scared to be anymore louder. What if she went to tell Miss Brooklyn that I yelled at her?

"You will wash them again." Here! She admited it that I wash them!

"But why?" I said. This is so unfair.

"Because I ordered you to and since you are not loved here, you must obey the orders without asking questions." She smirked.

I shook my head, not knowing what else I should say. I run out the door, holding my dress a little up to make it easier for me to run faster up the stairs to my room, shut the door behind me and slide myself on it until I met the floor. My tears finally found their way out of my eyes.

I miss my parents so much. They were poor, yes but my life with them was so much more easier than it is now. Living in a mansion is so much more harder than living in a small apartment. Why did you die and left me here? Why didn't I just die with you.

Mom, I miss you so much. I still can't forget what happened to you. I was probably little yes but it left a scar. I am sorry I couldn't do anything to help you. I miss you.

I stood up on my feet and walked to my bed. I lay on my stomach in front of it on the floor and slide my hand under the bed, looking for my notebook.

It was the notebook where I write message for my mother. I probably never sent them but I am sure she sees them herself.

I remember throwing it here a few minutes ago because she called me but I didn't know I threw it that far.

I finally found it. I have to make sure I put it back under the bed. If Miss Brooklyn found it, she will kick me out for a week or so. She already warned me about talking about my parents. She hates them and I don't know why. Every time me or my brother talk about them, we got consequences.

I took it and walked to the stand of my window where I usually sit to write my messages. I opened it and started to write.

Dear mother,