Journey to Love

Chapter 17

2 days later...

"Get your fucking ass out of my house," a high-pitched scream rang out through Layla's bedroom before the door slammed shut. Flinching from the loud noise, Layla uncovered the blanket from her shaking body. Just the movement of rolling onto her side caused a small hiss to come out of her mouth from the aching pain radiating across her body.

Her left arm hurt the most as she moved it over to the side of her bed, tapping around until her fingers curled around the familiar feel of her glasses. The wooden spoon had left an impact across her body. She could feel it as she moved from her mattress and onto the carpeted flooring. That and her foster father's fists. 

She moved as quickly as her body would let her, worried that she was moving too slow. She kept glancing at the door, worried that her foster mother would come back and drag her out of the house. She didn't bother changing her clothes, too sore, too tired to care what she looked and smelt like. Instead, she tried to slide her shoes on. That was an effort in itself. The sharp shooting pain seemed to stab her ribs and wrist with each movement of tying her laces.

She wasn't sure how long she would be able to contain her tears. But she could feel the water gathering in her eyes. Why did it always have to hurt?

Moving towards the door caused even more pain to rupture throughout her body. She leaned against the wall as her room began to tilt. God, she felt like crap. Why were they kicking her out of the house like this? 

As she neared the door to exit her bedroom, she slowly leaned down and picked up her school bag, wincing when it fell against her back.

Layla opened the door, painfully slow, and stepped out. She made her way down the hallway before descending the steps. Layla could hear her foster parents talking in the kitchen. She realised she didn't end up making them their breakfast, and she certainly was not up before them. This revolution should have had Layla's heart skipping a beat, but she was more worried about making it down the last couple of stairs without causing any more pain in her body.

As she reached the bottom, her foster parents ceased talking, instantly she could feel their heated gaze staring at her. So much so, Layla stopped in her tracks in front of them, waiting for what insults or orders they would tell her to do next. 

She could feel her foster mother's stare take in her clothing and physical state. She heard a loud sigh escape her foster mother's lips before she walked over towards her. Expecting to be hit for her tardiness, Layla shut her eyes, tensing up, readying for the strike. Instead, she felt her hair being released from her ponytail and being pulled in front of her bruised-up face. 

"No one wants to see your ugly face. Especially with those bruises. Then they'll know that you can't seem to behave yourself". She lectured Layla, who stood as still as she could. She studied Layla again, pushing her towards the door. "No one wants to know how naughty you are. Now shoo, you'll get fed at dinner".

Not having to be told twice, Layla made her way quickly to the front door and down the street. Though the walk to school was a long, painful, and a testament to her will. Her body seemed to hurt more and more with every step she took.

When she made it to the front doors of her school, she didn't seem to notice. Her mind and body seemed to have separated. With the pain consuming her entire focus. She walked through the corridors of the school and into her classroom, never once looking up from her shoes. Even when she walked to her desk and sat down, she didn't greet the teacher that was looking at her, worry evident in her gaze. 

Layla pulled her bag to her chest. She didn't bother pulling out her notebook and pencil. Didn't bother to draw or write. She just stared at her desk. Her arms hugging her bag, waiting for class to start. She prayed that the pain would dim, that it wouldn't crowd all of her thoughts. Because it was the only thing she could focus on, the pain that never seemed to end.