My Own Peter Pan Story

C H A P T E R O N E : I W A N T O U T

Chapter One: I Want Out

When I walked in the house I was welcomed home with a blow to the face. It was Miranda's fist of course. Oh look what my jaw did to her hand, it's bruising! I know, that sounds horrible but this happened practically everyday so it got a little old. The good thing was that my jaw was becoming more firm every time I took a blow. It had become so hard that it actually hurt her and that filled me with joy.

"Young lady, why did you get an 'A-' on your math test!?" Ya I know, why would she care about my grades. She didn't, she just looked for any excuse she could use to hurt me or punish me in any way she can. That's why I always studied hard, that and I was saving up for college. You see, I might have seemed young but even if I started saving up then there was still the possibility I would have to postpone school for a year or two and I would have to rent out an apartment as well.

Miranda didn't give me money and if I earned any it went straight to her. She said it was the least I could do since she took me in. That was a load of crap. That's why I saved my money and hid it, I never told her when I made money. I would make money anyway I could. Doing various things like babysitting, gardening, walking dogs (including picking up poop), and sometimes playing music for people like in cafes. The neighbors tried to help me as much as they could without getting me in trouble with Miranda.

I had a guitar, it was my brothers but he had told me to keep it when we got separated. My guitar was one of the few things I had left from my old life. It was the one thing I owned that was mine and only mine. I still kept it hidden under lock and key because knowing her she would take it away. If it gave me joy, happiness, even entertainment she would take it away. I kept it under the bed and inside a cubby in the floorboards. It was the safest place I could find. I only played when she was away or out of the house. For the most part I played my own songs but occasionally if there was a song I liked I would print out the notes and lyrics at the library.

I didn't exactly have access to a computer at home. We had a computer but Miranda didn't pay the internet bills all the time and we didn't have a printer either. Plus she wouldn't let me go near it. It was basically useless. I always went to the library, especially when I needed space from Miranda. I would say I was studying so she would allow it, truth was I went just to print out music and read books. I never brought books home because she would throw them out or wreck them and make me pay the library for it. I learned that from experience.

Anyway back to the subject. After getting a scolding followed by a beating I headed up to my room to do my homework, didn't need anymore bruises or pieces of split skin. Once the door was shut and locked I set down my bag and took out my homework. I better get it done now so that I will have it done when Miranda comes home at one am drunk as hell, I thought. A drunken Miranda wasn't fun, she was extremely violent and always seemed to be in a pissy mood. After beating me for like twenty minutes or more she would puke then pass out. It tended to happen in my room so I had to clean up and put her in bed. If I didn't and she woke up on the floor or couch she would be super cranky or act like shit and complain. Her constant complaining when she was hungover really pushed my buttons because it was her own damn fault she had a headache.

So I started out with my math homework since that was always easiest. I didn't really mind school, it was a place where I was useful in a way and a place where I could focus on things other than practically surviving. Ya sometimes I'd come home feeling like shit, that was only when I got bullied. I'm not talking about the kind where it's like "omg your so ugly, how can you stand to be such a tomboy. You have no friends weirdo" No it was much worse. They teased me for being in foster care, some went to the point of bringing my family into it. That was what got to me.

Kids would say my parents ran away from me because I was so horrid and they hated me. My own brother made sure he could get away from me even when I was all he had left as well. The worst part was that I would believe every word that dripped out of their mouths. Usually I didn't care what people said but then they finally figured out what got to me. When kids at school found out they wouldn't let it go, they would torture me with their poisonous words every single day. After taking in their talk and stinging words for weeks on end I finally cracked. I couldn't take it any longer. I cried for hours upon hours. Then an ideation came to me, I should just end my misery now. I felt like it was the cusp of my life. I considered jumping off my balcony but I knew people would see and I would not die soon enough. I tried looking for pills so I could overdose, that way it wasn't painful. But to no avail, there was not a single jar in the house. I had finally settled on bleeding to death, I would lock myself in my room so no one could 'save' me, more like sentence me to more suffering.