The Bianchi's Missing Piece

Chapter 1

Aria's POV:

As I open my eyes, the first thing I feel is pain. My ribs feel as though they were just rolled over by a semi and my arms and legs are as though they aren't even there. I try to ignore the excruciating pain and sit up off my mattress that lays on the cold basement floors.

I manage to sit up, but it only makes the pain in my ribs worsen. I immediately bite down hard on my lip to not let an ear piercing scream out.

It is currently 5 am in the morning. Shit! I got up an hour late!

As I try to stand up and put my clothes on, I think back to what happened last night.
I had gotten a beating- a bad one- I had done nothing wrong to get him mad as I blame it on the alcohol. Or maybe it was me, maybe just my existence alone is enough for me to deserve a beating. I was in the kitchen cooking John, my foster father, pasta for dinner when he barged in through the peeling wooden door. I wasn't done with the pasta yet, so I continued cooking, making sure to keep my head down and avoid eye contact. He then came into the kitchen, immediately yelling and screaming at me, asking why his dinner wasn't ready yet. I cook him pasta for dinner every night for 7:15 on the dot. It was only 6:45 so I was confused at to what he meant.

I still had 30 minutes left.

But for obvious reasons I didn't tell him that.

I has quickly apologized, but it wasn't enough. The next thing I knew he was harshly shoving me out of the way, onto the ground. Where he then grabbed the pan and emptied the sauce. He then proceeded to charge at me, where he tugged my pants down, ignoring me pleads and begging for him not to. However it was to late as I then felt him smashing the burning hot pan onto my right thigh. I twisted and turned to get it off, doing my best not to touch it and get more injured, but it was too late. I could smell my skin burning and hear it sizzling. I had bit my lip to try not to scream, but it was too late. I had already let out sobs and ear piercing screams as tears streaked their way down my cheeks and onto the ground. As punishment for screaming, and let's be honest, for just existing, after a good few minutes, john put the pan down and then repeatedly stomped on and kicked my body. Mostly aiming for my ribs. After a good hour of torment, he left the house, but not before he spit on me and called me a whore, a slut, a fat pig, an ugly bitch, a waste of space nobody. The list could go on and on. Once he had left, I did my best to army crawl down to the basement and lie down on my mattress before the dark consumed me.

I was brought of my memory by a tear falling down my cheek.

You have no reason to cry you bitch, you deserved it, all of it.

I quickly try to shake off my inner thoughts as I look in the old cracked mirror in my room, I had put on two oversized sweatshirts, baggy jeans, and old beat up shoes.

These past couple of months, I have been layering on more clothes. I can't have people noticing how thin I am. Since I'm not allowed to eat, I've been loosing weight like crazy. Before, I would sneakily eat at school, and during the summer I would sneak some food in while John was gone, but I won't dare to try that again...

I look at my outfit one last time, before I grab my concealer and use it to cover up any bruises that were on my face or that could possibly be seen through my clothes.

I then head up stairs, by now it's 5:30 as it took me a while to be able to move with how much pain my body is in. As I walk up the basement stairs I realize how bad my thigh is from being burnt. I tried not to look at it while getting dressed, but I can hardly walk. I'm having to use my left leg every single time I walk up a new step, and just drag my right leg along.