I sit in my room for days on end aside from the minutes spent getting beat, I have to plan this for every circumstance this has to happen it could quite frankly be the best day of my young life.
I hear mother rip up the stairs, I quickly use all of my strength to pull up my carpet and shove my book underneath to my joy mother skips my room and heads straight to her bath, this could be the perfect time, I plan to ask mother if I can get her anything from the shop and I could escape, no that would be chancy to my plan.
But without a thought I stroll into my mothers room.
What do you think your doing! My mother howls
Sorry mother I didn't think I just wanted to know if I could offer you any help and go to the shops for you.
My mother raises a hand as I flinch away from the burning rage that has been suppressed above my head, I feel as though I'm no daughter but instead a slave to my mothers commands.
Please mother I beg and plead , don't hit me I'm sorry I will never be so unthoughtful again.
It is blatant as to how harsh the beating will be and I prepare myself for weeks of swelled bones and bruises, I will Never be beautiful I'm marked 'damaged goods' how did I land myself here what did I do wrong to be treated like this. In living an agonising life with no love except from the bed I lay in.
I was correct I sit here for hours being hit with a metal bar, it's my fault I do it to myself I hear my mothers voice chorusing round in my broken mind, I finally pass out and awake in my bed, I think to myself was it all just a dream, was it in my head? Mother would never be as kind to carry me to my bed and that's when I know, fathers found out he's carried me to bed, I hear thundering up the steps, that's when father walks in my room.
Oh father I begin to explain and then I'm cut off with a blow to the skull, the only person I thought was on my side has turned against me.
I know how you've been hitting your mother I've seen the cuts, the scratches. Your a discredit to this family, hitting women how about I teach you a lesson. I didn't touch that mess up of a mother she's done it to cover her tracks you know because father knows. I use my best effort to try and crawl but I can't move, I've broke something I know I have I'm bruised and hurt to the point of breaking.
Father drags me out of my bed and sees the marks on me and knows something is up, he begins crying at the site of my mangled body, he pulls me into his arms I feel like a porcelain doll close to cracking, I feel his tears stain my skin as he pleads into my ear to forgive him, I pull father close I feel warmth from his body radiating from him to me.
Mother is manipulating and as much as I love my father I need to leave, I'll leave him a note but I'll 'forget' to inform him to my whereabouts.
When I was fit enough to move I would escape.
