𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓; 𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐈

𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻

✩♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
❝ 𝒊'𝒎 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 ❞

⌞ O C T O B E R - 2 0 1 0 ⌝

I was sitting on the living room floor, quietly playing with my dolls. The sun was warm, streaming through the window, and I liked the way it made the room glow.

I had dressed up my favorite Barbie doll in a tiny pink dress, pretending she was going to a party, and I was lost in the world I'd created for her.

"Bella!" I heard my mother's voice call from the kitchen. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't friendly either. She was always stuck in that in-between.

I looked up from the floor, wondering if she wanted me to come help her with something. That day, the maid took a day off and called in sick, so my mom had been cleaning for what felt like hours, moving around the apartment like a storm, muttering to herself about how messy everything was.

"Yes, ma?" I asked, standing up, but she didn't respond right away. I walked to the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, clutching my doll in one hand, watching her scrub the countertop with so much force that her knuckles turned white.

"Do I have to do everything around here, Bella?" she snapped, throwing down the sponge. I flinched.

I never knew when she would snap, but when she did, it always made me freeze. I wanted to disappear when she got that way, like if I stood very still, she might forget I was even there.

It was days like these where I wished my dad didn't work late.

I stayed quiet, not sure if I was supposed to say anything at all. I hated these moments, when her anger didn't have a clear reason.

I was always afraid that if I said the wrong thing, she would find a way to make it my fault. She had always been like this a lot—tired, irritated, and quick to lash out.

"I asked you a question," she spat, throwing the sponge into the sink. "You just sit there and make more messes for me to clean up." Her voice was growing louder, sharper, and my heart started to race.

I hadn't made a mess. I hadn't done anything wrong.

But I knew it didn't matter.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'll clean up my toys."

She turned and looked at me, her eyes narrowing. "What did you say?" Her voice dropped to a low growl, and that was worse than her shouting.

The growl was when I knew something bad was coming.

"I... I said I'm sorry. I'll put my toys away," I repeated, my voice trembling now. I hadn't meant to upset her.

I never meant to.

I just wanted to make her happy, but it seemed like nothing I did ever worked.

"Sorry?" she scoffed, walking toward me. Her footsteps were heavy, and I instinctively took a step back, clutching my doll tighter. "Sorry doesn't help me! You think you can just say sorry, and everything will be fine? You think I want to be here, cleaning up after you all day?"

"I didn't mean—"

"Shut up!" she yelled, and I froze, my whole body stiffening like a statue. She was standing right in front of me now, towering over me.

I couldn't even look up at her; I was too scared. I squeezed my doll so tight that I could feel the little plastic arms pressing into my hands.

What happened next, is what I wasn't ready for.

Her hand shot out, and before I could react, it struck the side of my face. It wasn't just a slap—it was hard.

So hard that I stumbled back, losing my balance.

I fell to the floor, my doll slipping from my grasp. My cheek stung, and tears sprang to my eyes, but I didn't cry. I didn't want to cry.

Crying would only make her angrier.

I lay there on the floor, frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't understand why she was so angry, why she had hit me.

It was the first time. But it surely wasn't the last.

I was only six.

I didn't know what I'd done wrong. The room felt cold all of a sudden, and the warmth from the sun seemed so far away.

For a moment, there was silence. I didn't move. I didn't even breathe. I just lay there, waiting for what would come next.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was low, but there was still that sharp edge to it. "Get up," she said. "Get up and stop lying there. I just mopped the floors."

I pushed myself up slowly, my hands trembling. My cheek was throbbing, and my eyes were burning with unshed tears, but I didn't dare let them fall. I reached for my doll, pulling her close to my chest like she could protect me somehow.

"You make my life so hard," she muttered, more to herself than to me. She turned back to the sink, picking up the sponge again. "So ungrateful. I do everything for you, and you can't even behave."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

I just stood there, still as a statue, my cheek burning, my heart racing. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be anywhere but here, in this kitchen, with her.

Finally, she waved her hand dismissively. "Go to your room," she said, her voice tired now, "I don't want to see you for the rest of the day."

I didn't need to be told twice. I turned and walked out of the kitchen, my legs shaking beneath me. I kept my doll close to me, like she was the only thing keeping me together.

I climbed the stairs to my room as quickly and quietly as I could, my face still stinging from the slap.

When I reached my room, I shut the door softly behind me and sat on the edge of my bed. The tears that I had held back finally came, rolling down my cheeks silently. I buried my face in my doll's dress, trying to muffle my sobs.

I didn't understand.

I didn't understand why my mother was so angry, why she had hit me.

I didn't know how to make things better, how to stop her from being mad at me all the time.

All I wanted was for her to love me.

But I didn't know how to make that happen.