Savanah Rodriguez was the child that was forgotten.
But what happens if there was two children who had a loving home. But not everything is about love.
One child was kidnapped at the age of 5, never to be seen again. The family does not speak of t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
- Juliana Rodriguez -
I heard the strapping of ballet shoes and corsets before I had the chance to make it to the handle of the door.
At that point, I knew I was late. Too late.
I would be beaten once again, just like I had been, which had made me late to my ballet class. But if I didn't go in, they wouldn't know and the maths teacher could get in trouble for making me late, as he had beaten me.
I would be lucky to be able to do my ballet lesson, let alone walking tomorrow morning.
I just decided to turn my back and walk away from the class I had been dreading the entire day. I couldn't be everywhere all the time.
"Where is she!" the voice I knew all too well, demanded, as I heard the slapping of his favourite toy: his belt. It was covered in our blood from our legs, backs, stomachs, feet, wherever he could reach to make us suffer.
I knew he was after his favourite person to torture: me. He hated my family for some reason, but I knew that my family would have saved me by now if they really cared. I wouldn't be here if I actually had a family, besides my twin sister, Annalise.
So, I knew it would be best to face him for one more time. One more time before I ran out of this horrid institute for girls; before I ran out of this place to somewhere that was safer.
Without men that tried to rape the girls they stole, before they forced them to learn and do ballet. They made us believe that this was normal, how we were treated was how every other girl in this world had been treated.
At a young age, you believe it, but once the older girls start teaching you that it isn't, you learn all the secrets that the monsters have been hiding.
"Your late" he spoke, just as my hand had grasped onto the cold, metal handle, that I knew was rusting away from the amount of water and blood that had been put on it over the years. "Sorry" I mumbled, bowing my head.
He hated eye contact because he wanted us to feel weak; to know that we would never be good enough for him or even anyone in this world. That was why we were here after all, because we were no good for the outside world.
But I knew they were wrong.
I knew that I could be better than these men. I had seen the other girls escape, so I knew that I could do it. I had been through what they had, so I could escape just like they had.
"Not good enough. You can be up the front here" the front position was the worst position. He taunted everything you did, even if you were doing it right. Every girl behind you would be able to see your scars and your blood dripping down your legs.
But we all had one thing in common: we never laughed at the person in the front position because we had all been in that position at least once.
I dropped my bag over to the side as I slid my broken pointe shoes on. Here goes nothing, I suppose.
