As Amber ventures through her new life, she endures the lies, secrets and betrayal that comes with it.
***
Adopted at the age of fifteen into the Peterson family, Amber is not ready for all the new consequences th...
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5 years ago
"I don't know!" I scream out in pain.
"Liar!" She screams right back at me. And if I wasn't in so much pain, I'd ask her who the child here was.
My mother was drunk again. Out of her mind drunk. The broken bottle that she gripped in her hand came in contact with my skin again. So I screamed.
"Mommy, please stop doing this to me; I didn't take your money!"
She smiled at me menacingly, "I'm not your mommy. I don't parent thieves. Because you know where theives end up? In jail. Do you want to end up in jail, Amber?"
"But I didn't—"
"Hey!" It's a different voice this time. Manly. My father stood in the doorway with a wad of cash in his hands. "Baby, is this the money you're talking about?"
She turns around and looks at him then at the money in his hands she thought I'd taken, "Yeah."
And I felt like I needed to defend myself, to prove to my mother that I was right about not stealing from her. I didn't want to be called a thief. So through all my pain, all my misery, I smiled, because maybe mommy would be nice to me if I proved that I didn't steal from her. "I told you I didn't take any money!"
But I hadn't gotten the reaction I wanted because a second later, I felt a sharp sting on my cheek. The unmistakable sound of a slap echoes through the basement. And I finally give up, crying softly with my head hung low in shame.
She walks away from me before grabbing the money from my father and heading upstairs.
"Now you've made her upset, you little brat!"
My voice cracks with each word, "But daddy—I hadn't—I didn't steal any money."
"Shut up, just shut up! I'm so sick of you. You're sleeping in here tonight and I don't want to see you for the rest of the week."
And just like that, both my parents left me. They left a helpless, malnourished and sleep deprived child hurdled in the corner of their basement as she cried out her pain, hoping that maybe God would hear her plea.
Present
My room feels bare. Despite the fact that the only items I packed are my undergarments, the uniforms I'd be wearing, my devices, and other necessities, I feel as if I am standing in an empty room.
I have never been one to indulge in decorations and other accessories that further beautified my room. I am content with the white walls, free of posters or drawings or other sorts of shenanigans. I don't care enough to fill my room with the colorful sketches and paintings and posters that my siblings cover their walls with. My room is always spotless, tidy and nothing more.
