Young And Beautiful

Chapter 1

1st of November, 1951, New York City, a star was born; a baby girl with a sparse of blond hair and big blue eyes.

My mother Emily looked up at her husband with teary eyes, all the pain suddenly worth it. "Rose-Marie."

Life changed completely back at home. Emily finally became a housewife, leaving her 9 to 5 as a secretary. Roger, my father, would come back home at 6 and hold his delicate newborn while Emily quickly made dinner. Roger would do the dishes, leaving me for Emily, then Emily would shower and sleep until 2am. She'd wake up, and they'd swap the nightwatch duties.

I seemed to grow up everyday. At ten, I was already a fairly tall child, with long blonde hair, bright ocean eyes and a charming smile.

Emily and Roger loved me more than anything. Or so I was told. I came to understand that at a very young age. I was the center of their world, and they were the center of mine.

I was eleven years old, January 11th, and I was driving with my parents from a holiday trip when our car was suddenly hit by a truck. I was the only one who survived, with my parents dying on the spot. My world went black from then on.

I was suddenly alone.

My parents never got along with their relatives, because they had married against their wishes. It wasn't much of a shock when no one took me in. I was put into an orphanage, then a foster home when I turned 14 in 1965.

I left the orphanage thinking that now that
my life would change drastically, for the better. But that was not the case.

My new family was sent from hell; which was ironic, because they were Catholic. The Brown family.

It was sort of obvious that I was not their child out of the biological four, apart from being the only blonde among the redheads, I scarcely got new clothes, I ate smaller portions, I slept in the smallest room, I did all manual work, and I almost went nowhere. I was like a prisoner.

All the other children went to school and made friends. while I got a private tutor for home schooling, who only came once a week. But I never complained. Because I was stupid and I did everything she was told to like a bloody dog.

I questioned myself sometimes as to why they had taken her in if they wouldn't give me the love they gave the rest of her children. But my new mother would reassure me by giving me a hug randomly, or telling me that she loved me too. If I was lucky, I'd go grocery shopping with her.

Of course as I grew up, I realized my so-called mother didn't give a single shit about me, but back then, I was trying so hard to find a replacement for my parents. I craved to be loved.

I wasn't allowed to call Mr Brown "father", but Mrs Brown wouldn't hear anything but ʼmother'.

I was whipped like a slave for every little mistake I made. I had scars all across my back from the whip that had become my best friend. I accidentally dropped a vase at my youngest sister Ruth's birthday party. Mrs Brown beat me up, completely naked, and she made me sleep outside. On these nights, I wouldn't be allowed to eat at all.

My siblings and I never grew to be close. We spoke and got along well, but the four of them were closely knit, and I was the odd one out. I wasn't one of them. Mother never tried to better our relationship.

The entire family would pray almost six times a day, and the Browns went to church every Sunday while I stayed home to "look after the house." I once overheard Mrs and Mr Brown saying I had evil spirits and that they would never allow me into the church because I was a cursed child.

The worst of the duration I lived with this family was the way my so called father would crawl into my bed almost every night, hike up my night dress, and force himself inside my. It was unbearably painful everytime, but what was more painful was the way he would pretend it never happened in the morning.