At Least I'm Trying

The Bolter

Amelia's Pov:

TW: abuse

short intro chapter

My phone chimes with a notification, alerting me that a new grade was posted for my Algebra II class. I hesitantly open it, as someone who has always struggled with math, the results weren't always the best. And that made my parents very angry. I open it, and see that I got a 70. My mind swirls with worry, knowing what they did to me last week for getting an 80. They locked me in my room with no food or water after shouting at me for so long that my ears were ringing afterwards. 

My parents can see my grades and whenever there's a new grade posted. I feel the fear traveling through my veins, as my ears ring and my heart beats audibly in anticipation of their wrath. My mind flashes back to last week, when they saw the 80%. 

My mom barges into my room, my dad following behind her. "Amelia explain your grade right now!" she yells. 

I know that if I actually explain, it'll be considered "talking back". So I hold my tongue. "I'm sorry, I'll try to do better next time by going to extra help," I say. 

My mom scoffs. "Extra help? YOU DON'T NEED EXTRA HELP! You're just too lazy to do your work! Maybe if you didn't mope around all the time you could make something if yourself," she screams. Tears stream down my face at my utter defenselessness. "Oh, now you're gonna cry? You think you can make me feel sorry for you?" my mom mocks, emphasizing "cry" and "sorry". 

"No I'm genuinely really so-" I try to explain

"Are you lying to me and your dad? Is that why you're crying? We will sit in this room until you tell us!" she yells.

"No, that's my only bad grade right now," I say, my voice shaking. 

"I am done with this sass! YOU DON'T LEAVE THIS ROOM UNLESS I GIVE YOU PERMISION! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!" She screams, even louder this time. I stare at the floor, making myself smaller out of fear.

"Hey! you answer when I talk young lady. DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND." she yells. 

"Yes, I won't leave the room," I say. 

"Won't leave the room unless what?" she asks

"Unless you give me permission," I say. 

"Remember, no coming out of this room. Not even for food. You look like you could last two days without it," My dad says.

My mom slams the door, leaving me to starve for the weekend. I decide to listen to some music on my airpods, going to my playlist about feeling like I'm not enough. I cry myself to sleep with this is me trying on repeat, burrowing my head in my squish mellow, pretending someone cared enough to let me cry on their shoulder. If only I knew someone, in real life, who understood. I just want someone to understand how it's getting harder each day to stay alive. 

...

As I walk home from school, part of me doesn't want to live like this anymore. Living in constant fear has made me an outcast, jumping and flinching at anyone's attempts to talk to me. I could feel the damage it has done on my nervous system as well, leaving me constantly checking my surroundings in anticipation of my parents popping out to remind me how I'm not enough. As I keep walking, I go a way I've never went before, seeing signs for a park. I walk through the curved path and spot a bridge. Maybe I could just admire the view and liv here. Another part of me would rather be dead than face the punishment for not coming home. They don't even care about me: they'd just miss their punching bag.