Saving Isabella

Chapter 1: Shattered Silence

I open my eyes, but the world is still spinning. My head feels heavy, like it's stuffed with lead, and when I try to sit up, my body collapses back to the floor, wracked with sobs. The pain is too much. I glance down at my leg—it's swollen and mottled with bruises, trembling under the weight of my own body.

With a grimace, I drag myself across the room, each movement sending sharp pangs through my ribs. When I finally reach the mirror, the sight that greets me almost makes me laugh—or cry. My right eye is bruised and swollen, a deep purple that contrasts sharply with the pallor of my skin. There's dried blood on my shirt, probably from when I hit the ground and blacked out after Jack threw me down like a ragdoll. I lift my shirt gingerly, bracing myself for what I know I'll see.

The damage from last night stares back at me, a grotesque palette of blue, purple, and sickly greenish-yellow. My ribs are a mess, each breath sending a reminder of how fragile they are. Six fresh burns mar my stomach, like cruel medals of survival, with two more on my forearm. And my shoulder—oh, my shoulder. The jagged lines are unmistakable, courtesy of Jack's knife. Three deliberate, slicing drags across my skin. The bruises around the cuts suggest I must've slammed into something on the way down, adding a splash of dark color to the horror show. I whimper at the sight, but quickly swallow the sound. Whimpering isn't allowed. Not in this house.

"You think you can talk back to me?" Jack's voice, low and venomous, echoes in my mind.

"No, no, I swear I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up!" he roared, his hand striking my face so hard I stumbled backward, crashing into the wall. Before I could recover, he was on me, grabbing me by the hair and dragging me into the living room. I barely had time to gasp before his knee drove into my stomach, the air rushing out of me in a painful wheeze.

"You're nothing," he spat, his face inches from mine, his breath thick with the stench of whiskey. "A useless, stupid bitch who doesn't know her place." His grip tightened on my hair, and I could feel strands tearing from my scalp as he yanked me closer. "Maybe this will teach you."

The cigarette burn came next. I couldn't even scream—my voice caught in my throat as the searing pain spread through my skin, white-hot and blinding. He held it there, letting it sizzle against my flesh until I thought I would pass out from the agony. He wouldn't stop after attacking my stomach. He moved onto my forearms, I couldn't move, I couldn't scream, I couldn't breath. And then, as if bored, he let go, tossing me to the floor like a discarded toy.

"Get up," he sneered, but my legs wouldn't obey. I curled into myself, clutching my stomach, trying to will the pain away. His shadow loomed over me, and I knew what was coming next. The knife glinted in the dim light, and I could do nothing but wait, helpless, as he dragged the blade across my shoulder—once, twice, three times—each cut deeper than the last.

"You deserve this," he whispered, almost lovingly, before his foot connected with my side, and everything went black.

I limp into the bathroom and collapse onto the floor. The cold tiles offer no comfort, but at least they're solid. After what feels like an eternity of trying to pull myself together, I manage to stand and rummage through the cupboard. I find the painkillers and dry-swallow two, praying they'll kick in soon. I wrap a bandage around my shoulder as best as I can with one hand, wincing as the rough gauze grazes the wounds. I brush my curly hair, my fingers catching on tangles, before finally weaving it into a braid. The painkillers are slow to work, but when they finally start dulling the sharp edges of my agony, I feel a small sense of relief.

I open my dresser and pull out a long-sleeved shirt. It's old, worn out, and a size too small, but it's all I have. Mom or Jack won't be buying me a new one anytime soon. I slip on the shirt, its snug fit pressing against my sore ribs, and then grab Kelly's old jeans. They're tattered and have holes in them, but at least they fit—better than anything else I own. I'm grateful Kelly gave them to me, though I doubt she realizes just how much.

I take yesterday's bloodied shirt into the bathroom and scrub at it furiously, as if by erasing the blood I can erase the memory of last night. Once it's as clean as it's going to get, I grab my backpack and painkillers, then head downstairs.

As I reach the door, just inches away from escape, Jack's hand grabs me and spins me around. His fist slams into my stomach, right where my ribs are already bruised. The air rushes out of me, and I crumple to the floor, gasping for breath. I hate him. God, I hate him so much. Sometimes I wonder why—why he's like this, why I have to endure it—but the answer never comes.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, SLUT?" Jack snarls, his breath hot and foul in my face. He delivers another punch to my ribs. I whimper and groan in pain as I fall to the floor. My lips quiver as I whisper, "School." Just let me go. Please, just let me go. I didn't even realize I was crying until tears were dripping down my face and onto the cold floor. I cover my face with my hands, trying to stop the tears. Mom's voice echoes in my mind, that cold, venomous tone she uses when I dare to cry.

You don't deserve to cry.

You don't deserve to be alive.

"Get up!" Jack's voice is sharp, impatient. "If someone asks you what you did to your eye, what are you going to say?"

I force myself to stand, every muscle screaming in protest. "Th-that a ball hit me while I was p-p-playing basketball," I stammer. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

"Good, good," Jack tuts, as if praising a child. "Now, give me my goodbye kiss."

I inwardly cringe. Kissing Jack's prickly beard is the last thing I want to do, his breath reeking of alcohol and marijuana. But I force myself to do it, knowing that resisting will only make things worse. Finally, I turn to leave, and as I close the door, I catch sight of my mother leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a satisfied smile on her face.

A/N

Sooo...? What do you think about it? Feel free to hate on Jack and her mother, I won't get mad. First one short and pretty intense, but they will get longer, don't worry. I love feedback so feel free to comment. English isn't my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes.