Abused and Unloved~

Chapter Twelve

When I was little my favorite cartoon was The Powerpuff Girls. That cartoon show about the three superhero little girls made of sugar, spice, and everything nice?

At the point in my life when I was still an only child, or at least I thought I was, around ten years old and my mom still single— she would leave me home alone a lot.

We didn't really live in a good area at the time so that probably wasn't her best idea.

She would go out for a drink, leave at one in the afternoon then come back at one in the morning and the only person who would watch over me was my Powerpuff doll.

I had Blossom, the leader of the girls. She was my protector and I would never leave the house without her.

When my mom remarried and I started to get abused, that was the doll I would feed all my problems to.

My mom realized that the doll was my sanctuary. Without it I felt like nothing, a perfectly vulnerable target. So she yanked it away from me and hid it somewhere in the house.

It was a haunting experience which led to night tremors that didn't subside for months.

Whenever her and Christian were gone, I would frantically search the house top to bottom. I never found it.

For some odd reason I can sense my doll right now, I can still smell the salty wet tears and feel her familiar disfigurement from overuse. The security that doll gave me was something I would never forget, but the fact that it felt so close to me right now was intuitively frightening.

I jolt awake and my head meets a solid surface with immediate impact. "Ow.." When my eyes adjust they narrow in on my assailant which happened to be a protruding wooden headboard.

Jayden didn't have an elaborate headboard like this.

My head whips side to side scanning the room. I'm in an unfamiliar king sized bed, in a room framed with insane asylum type barred windows and a paint chipped door that I would bet money was locked. My body remains painfully stiff as I try to ignore the smell of bleach and notice an ominous looking note sitting on the nightstand table.

I chuck the doll away from me and hesitantly pick up the note wary of what it might reveal. This whole situation felt sketchy.

Hell is not something you escape. Hell is something you accommodate to. It is something you try to make the best of. But this isn't hell anymore sweetheart, your new life has begun and we're going to be a normal happy family even if it kills us.
—Christian and Mom ♥

I could immediately tell from the handwriting and condescending tone that Christian had written the note.

I tried not to freak out as the realization that my parents escaped jail dawned on me. I had no doubt this would happen eventually yet I allowed myself to get comfortable and feel safe, now I faced the consequences of that oversight as a hostage in the middle of who knows where. The only thought that could bring my racing mind any sort of peace was the knowledge that at least Kaylee was safe with the Gonzalez family.

I stand up deciding to strategically explore my surroundings. The drawers were already filled with casual clothes and undergarments and the closet as well. The bathroom also seemed to be stocked up on toiletries. These things alone wouldn't have alarmed me as much if it weren't for the underlying meaning, it implied they were planning to keep me for a while.

There's a sudden knock on the door— or rather an impatient pounding.

"...Who is it?"

My parents wouldn't give the courtesy of alerting me to their presence with knocking, the lack of immediate entry alerted me to the possibility of conspiring aggressors. Someone I could possibly manipulate or charm into helping me escape.