Artbeat

Chapter IV

- CARSON -

I stepped into Mr. Donovan's car. 6:00 in the morning. He's one of the early teachers, first to arrive to school. Which means I too had to wake up early if I didn't want to be left behind. I didn't have a problem with it, considering I woke up very early too, just to take my time as I walked to school every morning.

As long as I spent a little time as I could in the caging walls of my mother's house.
I showered and ended up repeating my uniform because I had no option at all. The silence killed me as he drove.

I'm not that awkward with Mr. Donovan, but after what he witnessed the previous evening and the talk at the dinner table, of course all my questions, even regarding art,  just...left.

"Your mother assaulted you, Miss Carson," Mr. Donovan said, his voice laced with genuine concern, disturbing the silence in the car. "If you don't press charges, she may be allowed to continue this behavior, and it could escalate into even more severe situations, including further domestic violence and weapon use." He paused, his eyes locked on mine, as we drove through the misty morning streets, the golden light of dawn casting a warm glow on the scenery.

I look down at my hands intertwined on my laps. Yes, he was correct, and I was very much aware. But would I really let that cross my mind knowing well she's the same woman who raised me all these years? "This has never happened before, I promise," I protested, my voice barely above a whisper. "She wouldn't do anything to hurt me to that extent—"

"And it could happen a second time, third time, fourth," Mr. Donovan interjected, his words gentle but firm. "You should speak up about it, Miss Carson. You deserve safety."

I gazed out the window, the blurred trees and houses a reminder of my fragile reality. "And she's my only family, Mr. Donovan. I have only her in this world, excluding my dad who won't even think of visiting me." My voice cracked, but I forced myself to continue. "I know deep down it wasn't her intention to hurt me. I promise, I know how my mother is like."

Mr. Donovan's expression softened, his eyes filled with empathy. "If I hadn't shown up—"

I shuddered at the thought, my scarred cheek throbbing in memory. "Thank you for showing up, Mr. Donovan. Nothing happened in the end." I forced a smile, my mask securely in place to cover the evidence of that fateful night.

As we pulled into the school parking lot, the morning sun cast a warm glow on the bustling students. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for another day, but this time, hiding behind my mask. "Thank you for driving me to school, have a great day," I said, my voice steady, before shutting the car's door.

__________

I sit in class, my gaze drifting away from the chalkboard, like a leaf blown by the wind.

I let my mind begin to wander, drawn to the memories of what had happened last night between my mother and I. The classroom fades into a soft focus, like a painting left in the attic. Forgotten and dusty.

I see her face, her eyes flashing with anger, her voice raised in a tone that makes my heart ache. I relive the sting of her words, the sharp pain of the glass slicing my skin, the feeling of being lost and alone in the very place I should own home.
I winced trying to shake off all my thoughts. I had to wear a face mask today, so that no one would question on the deep scar that had found its place on my right cheek.

My thoughts swirl around the pain and confusion, like a whirlpool pulling me under. My pencil lies still, a forgotten reed on the shore of my notes.

Just as I'm drowning in the depths of the events of the recent past, someone gently tapped on my shoulder, bringing me back to the surface, like a lifeline thrown to a struggling swimmer.