Chiara Romero
A young, sweet little six year old girl that was ripped from the place she had lived in for not only a year, all because of her parent's choices. She had to live with the consequences of her parents choices.
She had to be re-stitched...
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- Chiara Romero -
"Chiara! Get your lazy ass down here and off to school now!" my foster mother called out from the bottom of the stairs. The fear of messing up had already appeared, and I had just opened my eyes. I was unsure how I was going to survive another day of this new mood that my foster mother was in. Her hatred had seemed to be getting worse as the days went on.
I stumbled off the thing that I sleep on, clutching my ribs in doing so, as I slipped over. I cried in pain, before gathering myself towards the bag I had stuffed in the corner of the room. I rummaged through it, before slipping the shirt and shorts I sleep in, into the school shirt that had many holes in it, while slipping a new pair of shorts on.
Everything I ever wore was dirty, even though I tried to hard to keep everything clean. "CHIARA!" she shouted again, causing me to fumble with the bag, as I scurried out of the room, almost tripping on the floorboards that were sticking up.
I clutched onto the wall with my shaky hands, as I slowly made it down the stairs. I could feel the blood on my back from last night, as all of the bruises were still starting to form on my back. Basically, everywhere under my shirt was in pain, and there was nothing that I could about it.
"Chiara! Hurry up! If you don't get down here in the next 2 minutes, you won't be eating breakfast today!" My ever so lovely foster mother, Eleanor, called out. More like shouted for that matter. Whatever I did, she hated. Nothing I ever did was good for her.
For the past two years, she did whatever she could to make my life hurt so much more than I knew it should. Mark, her husband, was no better. He would sit in his usual chair, where smoke clouded around him, as Eleanor would hit me and kick me. I would be lucky to walk the next day. I rarely spoke to either of them.
I just never spoke in general. "Chiara!" she shouted for a third time, as I almost stumbled down all of the stairs. I was already about to cry. I just wanted comfort, I didn't want to be living in the fear. I had only just turned 6 yesterday, but I felt like I was almost 10 years old. I felt too old already, but all I wanted was to be cuddled in a blanket by someone, while I held my favorite teddy bear, that came from my mama, who was the only person that had been the closest thing to a mommy.
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