This Rose Bleeds

Chapter ~Six~

Mrs. Clair was in the office in the back and I was opening the shop. I decided to do overtime this morning.

The man that had come by last night was Mr. Stevens, and his words shoved me on overdrive. I completely neglected my symptoms, mostly because I didn't have money to buy over-the-counter medicine. Every month I pay him money for rent and a portion of a much bigger debt that, should I think about, would make me faint. My dad had borrowed money off of him for years; resulting in the huge tab.

But my dad is gone.

Now I have to pay back the entire loan, which could take my whole life. Mr. Stevens is powerful in the sense he has back up. He could make me lose everything I barely have a hold on right now. He's not related, or at least I hope not. Apparently he was an old 'friend' of dad. He's very controlling. If I'm not able to make payday by the end of the month, he finds other ways to compensate.

And that's what scares me.

For the first couple of months he gave simple violent reminders and made a mess of the house, since I was young. But then he changed it to a much more personal payment.

I guess Ryder was right to call it a phobia. But he wasn't the only reason I don't like being touched. The other reason was my dad.

When I was nine my mother passed. My dad took the news horribly. He began drinking heavily until he just collapsed. He quit his job and continuously used Mr. Stevens' money to pay for his gambles, drugs, and other payments. He was always wasted, so I had already begun learning life for myself and cooked, cleaned, walked myself to school. Reducing his burden wasn't enough. He took out all his anger on the only person he could find–me.

He would punch, kick, and whip me with his belt until I bled. I believe he was barely aware of what he was doing. Once he had used the rod from the curtains, if I cry he would come back.

I don't know what changed one day, but he finally decided to end it. He came home half dead, with his eyes sunken into the back of his head and a grimace outlining his features. I had made dinner, because at the time I had given up and decided to just go on like nothing happened to me every night. He had given me a long look.

"You look like her," He drawled. "And someone else."

I did look like my mother. But I looked like him as well.

He ambled slowly forward and swiped a knife from the table. I stumbled backward but he grabbed my small arm with a grip so strong I shouted. He shook me and yelled, "You're nobody! You're the reason she's gone!" He raised the knife and sliced down the front of my shirt.

The blade tore into my skin and I screamed. "Why don't you just die?"He asked in a shout. I couldn't move from that spot at his feet. Before he plunged the knife through me, he gave me a last look. I could tell why he hesitated to stab me: because I looked like his wife. So instead he dropped to his knees, raised the knife, and sliced my wrist repeatedly.

I remember lying in my pooling blood. There were lights flashing outside. My dad looked aghast at what he'd done, though I don't know why since he's always wanted to get rid of me. I remember him plunging the knife through his neck before I lost consciousness.

Somehow the doctors were able to stem the blood flow and stitch up the slices done to my wrist. In other words, I lived. The same couldn't be said for my father.

I don't remember anything from the hospital, or until after when I met Mr. Stevens. I wasn't sure about the whole custody thing since I was eleven, but for some reason, since then, I've lived on my own. That man probably had his own hand in it, which I found strange considering I've never really met him before and we weren't related. Mr. Stevens brought the debt up when I was thirteen. And, as anyone could have guessed, that's when I began working for my life.