Hello. I won't lie, keeping this account updated is a little difficult. Ok, so, this chapter will be dealing with themes such as abuse, alcoholism and death. If that's not something you're up to reading, that's completely fine! Click off, and read something that will make you smile. This is very fast paced as it isn't a one shot that is based on one particular thing.
Maria was a puzzle. All her pieces were different sizes and textures and so her puzzle could never be completed. How can one even start to complete a puzzle when the pieces won't fit? Maria never fitted in, not at home, not at school and not with any of her friends. She was a lonely child, always playing with the insects outside or with her teddies to keep herself company. She didn't really notice the loneliness, but then it started to seep in slowly. Corrupting her own innocence. Being ignored your whole life, causes a child to act out. To become violent. Bad attention was still attention. She had been starved of it for so long, by her father. A bottle of whisky was more entertaining to her father than herself.
Constantly getting into fights at school, knuckles bloody. She didn't fight unless provoked, she was intelligent. They'd call her names, laugh at her because she couldn't look after herself. She was only eleven, no one had taught her how to plait her hair or trim her nails. Her mother, who would've taught her all of this, was dead. Her father wanted nothing to do with her, after all it was her fault she died. She died in childbirth, the birth of Maria had taken the one thing from that man that he loved- his wife. His child, his own flesh and blood, in his eyes, was a murderer. He hated her. The hatred only grew stronger, as Maria grew older. He never layed a hand on her until she was fourteen, when she hit puberty. She looked too much like her mother, her features becoming more defined. From the colour of her hair and eyes to the curve of her hips. In a drunken state, he screamed at her to come to him. She ignored him, he got angry. He threw his whisky bottle to the floor, the glass shattering loudly, the shards scattered everywhere. She shrieked and began to run up the stairs. As quick as her legs could carry her. It wasn't quick enough. He grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her down, her head hitting the step with a loud thump. She was sobbing hysterically, calling out for help. No one heard her. Maria felt powerless. He slapped her, and dragged her by the hair into the kitchen where he snatched the scissors of the counter and began to cut her beautiful brunette locks off. When she looked less like her mother, he was satisfied. Dropping her to the ground and leaving her to cry, curled into a ball for hours, alone. Maria couldn't go to school for a week, not until the purple and yellow bruise on her eye settled down.
After that incident, she avoided her father. Not that he cared, he was happiest when she wasn't around. She'd hide in her room until he fell asleep, or got black out drunk, and sneak into the kitchen to find some food. In the summer, when it was no longer cold outside, she'd stay outside all day and night. Walking for hours, discovering new places and exploring alone. Only returning home in the early morning to sleep. Maria was a stranger in her own home. She was devastatingly lonely.
When she turned sixteen, they had gotten into a routine. The abuse had stopped, they were in agreement with each other. Maria would keep hidden until he had left the house or he was asleep. She'd keep her hair in a tight bun at the bottom of her neck so he wouldn't feel the urge to cut it all of. They simply co existed. Things were looking better, and she got comfortable. Too comfortable. Maria had finally made a friend, they hung out together a lot and Maria would invite her back to her house. The two of them would sneak past her drunk father to her bedroom. Maria's house was finally filled with love. They'd laugh together, watch movies and fall asleep together in each others arms. Maria knew she felt something for her friend, that wasn't the kind of love you would have for just a friend. But she never said anything. She couldn't lose her. But the world is a cruel place. And as usual, Maria would lose anything and everything that made her smile.
