Blood Tattoo

Chapter 1

(A/N I'll be going back in and editing the crap out of this, but for now, enjoy!!)

Chapter 1.

I spring up, flailing under my many covers. In my struggle I somehow manage to roll out of my tiny bed, whacking my temple on the corner of my end table. I lie on the floor panting, 'Just a dream... It was just a dream...' The early morning sunlight is just starting to creep through my blinds; it can't be any later than six. I reach up and feel my face. The tears were very real and still flowing. The image of my dad reappeared in my head, and that almost sent me into a full-on sob session. It has been months since that dream tormented me.

I quickly shove those emotions down before they can get a good grasp on me, just like I learned to do as a child. I pull myself off the ground, picking up my blankets and laying them in a heap on my bed. The full impact of head on end table was now catching up with me. I look at the abusive furniture, assessing the damage. By some miracle nothing was knocked off. I internally cursed it for its sharp edges, and turned my gaze on my alarm clock.

It is just after six o'clock in the morning, about the time I wake up normally for school. It is a Monday, which makes me want to start crying all over again. I rub my eyes, opening my dresser. I pull out some clothes, and head to hop in the shower before my aunt gets home; she's working the night shift this week down at the hospital. My shower is brief, not wanting to use up all the hot water. I didn't need another lecture about how I didn't pay the water bill, and how the amount of water utilized by me could cleanse a whole colony of elephants and still have some to spare to keep them hydrated for many years to come.

I ponder over that argument, appreciating my aunt's ability to make up ludicrous comparisons in a moment and ride them out for their maximum humor and irony. It has been almost eight years now since I moved in with my aunt, Kallie. After my dad disappeared there was no other family for me to be passed off to except her. She had just finished grad school, and was an aspiring doctor. The last thing she needed was her older brother's eight-year-old kid. The first few months could be summed up as awkward small talk over instant ramen dinners. She has always been very kind to me. She tried to take on the 'Mommy" role as best she could, but with night shift at the hospital and minimum wage, it was hard on her. She's more of a big sister to me at this point.

After those first few months we kind of fell into a routine of me waking up and saying hello/goodnight to her when she got home from the hospital, me making myself breakfast and lunch, and filling the time I had with reading, TV, or playing outside in the tiny yard. She would wake up around four, and we'd eat whatever dinner she could scrounge up, and then she'd head back out to work at the hospital. It was a little lonely, but I've always been a loner anyways.

When that school year started she enrolled me at the nearby elementary. I would get home just in time to catch her leaving, and she would point out what she made me for dinner, and remind me to do my homework and get to bed on time. She really was great, anyone else in that situation would have crumbled, but she stayed strong for me.

I put my hair up in a towel and begin to brush my teeth. I look around the small bathroom. It is the only bathroom in the house, therefore a warzone. The wallpaper is peeling in a few places, the paint on the ceiling flaking off from all the years of steam wearing away at it. The sink is ancient, with a leaky warm knob, and an unreliable cold knob. The mirror is small, and opens into a cabinet that holds random paraphernalia that relate to hygiene and nail care. I wipe a circle into the steamy mirror, and observe my abused temple. Low and behold, a little bruise is beginning to appear. Maybe I would look tough? Yeah right, all five feet of me is so intimidating.

I have always been really short for my age, which caused a lot of bullying in elementary school. That usually led to a crying beat up bully and a pouting me in the principal's office with a sleepy Kallie, and a suspension. My dad had taught me some pretty killer moves before he went missing. He was really big on fighting, he always said something about how 'he had to teach his princess to protect herself,' though I don't think these were the application of techniques he had planned on.